Chuck Versus the Con Game
by Steampunk.Chuckster
Summary: AU. Chuck and Sarah are partners in the con game. It's an existence wrought with danger and violence. Every day could be their last. Every mission could be the end of the line.
1. Con Game Revealed

**A/N: **I've gone and done it. I promised my friend **brotowski **a ficlet (a _ficlet_) for her birthday, and instead this happened. This idea grew and grew and grew and now it's an insane monster inside of my head. And it refuses to leave. So everyone drop her a PM and thank her for being born and for making me love her enough to write her a birthday present.

AU, non-canon, Chuck Bartowski and Sarah Walker are partners in crime, con artists extraordinaire. But will the lines of professionalism blur when their latest job goes terribly wrong?

Thanks to everyone who has followed me and read and reviewed everything I've posted in the last few months. You're all gems, the lot of you!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Chuck _but I am now the owner of all five seasons on DVD thanks to that fabulous sale on amazon a few weeks ago. ALL HAIL THE SALE!

Enjoy, you lovelies!

* * *

A loud pop sounded over the din of conversation and the orchestra softly playing the Viennese Blood Waltz. Champagne spilled over the crystal flutes, bubbling up over the rims and dribbling onto the white doily covering a silver tray.

Chuck Bartowski's eyes followed the tray and his fingers itched to take one of the glasses as the server swept past. "Ah, ah, ah…" he heard in his ear, a soft, teasing, feminine voice. It sent a bit of a thrill through him but he fought it off and frowned, knowing she was watching him.

"I wasn't going to."

"Not on the job, Bartowski."

"I _wasn't _going to."

He heard her soft scoff and made a face, readjusting the earwig so that it fit more snugly. "Do you see her yet?" he asked into his jacket lapel.

"No, you?"

"Mm mm." A pause. "This is my favorite waltz. Strauss, Jr. Some say his father was the better composer, but I tend to disagree. I think they both sound exactly the same, frankly."

"Chuck, focus."

"I'm focusing. You know I get bored doing these kinds of things." A couple twirled towards the center of the dancing floor, and as the fluttering skirts of the female partner swept out of the way, his partner in crime was revealed. Her long blonde hair was swept elegantly into graceful knot at her neck. She wore a silk maroon dress with thin straps, fitted along her torso, the skirt fluttering to the ground loosely. Her black flirty heels poked out from beneath the hem of her dress.

"Chuck? …Chuck?"

Chuck's eyes shot up to her face and his ears went a little red.

"Hi, Chuck," her voice chirped in his ear when their eyes met. "Try to focus, will you?"

"Sorry. You look beautiful, Sarah." He had already turned away and was walking towards the bar, so he missed her biting her lip to keep from smiling.

"Thanks, but your target is Madame Pompodoge, not me."

"Hmm…pity."

She scoffed again, her eyes watching his back as he moved through the throngs of attendees. She felt the weight of her Smith & Wesson against her hip, tucked into her small black handbag that hung loosely from her shoulder. And the heady feeling of her knives strapped to her thigh kept her from lowering her guard and grabbing one of those flutes of champagne that kept flying past her face. She couldn't really blame Chuck, after all.

But they had a job to do. And she had to keep him focused. That had always been his biggest problem, ever since she first caught him sneaking into her apartment those years ago. She'd been half-naked, getting ready for bed after a perfectly successful intel swipe job in Dubai. She remembered feeling his presence as he climbed into the window and she spun on him. He'd had his gun out immediately, but his eyes bugged out and he nearly dropped it, giving her enough time to throw her knife and pin him to the windowsill by his pant leg.

He thought he could steal the intel from her hotel room.

Even now, Sarah Walker scoffed. He was such an amateur, and it was kind of cute, as infuriated as she'd been at the time. Since then, he'd proven himself capable enough. He was a trustworthy partner in the con game. He had a heart of gold, which could be frustrating at times, but it meant she had him wrapped around her finger. He was as loyal as a lapdog. She knew he'd do anything for her, and she utilized it to the best of her abilities.

Her father's voice filtered into her memory. "The guy's a schnook. And you wanna bring him into the field with you? He'll get you killed. I'm tellin' ya, drop the schnook. You'll work better alone."

But Chuck was a computer genius. He'd hacked them into bank vaults, secure servers, government databases…sometimes with his damn cell phone. His technological skills were superb and he'd designed so many stellar tools for them over the last few years.

But the guy lost focus too easily. And her father was right about that; someday it might get him killed, or her killed…or both of them.

"See anything?" his deep voice asked in her ear.

She moved her fingers up to adjust her earring and spoke into the bangle on her wrist. "Nope. Oh, wait."

A tall woman who was thinner than a pixie stick swept along the side of the room. Her face was ethereal in its Roman grace, her skin flawless and pale. In all senses of the word, she was gorgeous, and resembled the type of model that might be seen on a Milan catwalk. Her cobalt dress clung to her thin waist and made her stand-out in the crowd.

"Madame Georgiana Pompodoge incoming at your three o'clock. She's about forty paces away, moving slowly."

Chuck looked up from the mahogany wood of the bar and peered over his shoulder nonchalantly. He saw the target moving across the room, gracefully nodding her head to the other guests she knew. Her smile was subdued, almost to the point of being impolite. But she was a staggeringly beautiful sight to behold. More so than in the photos he and Sarah had looked up on Google images.

Her husband was not with her. _Uh oh…_

"Chuck, you remember the plan?"

"Mmhmm," he mumbled, watching the woman from across the room. She'd turned so that she began to move towards the bar where he was standing and he stepped back, folding into the crowd.

He and Sarah had devised a way to get into Madame Georgiana Pompodoge's room where they'd rob her blind and make like the bandits they were. Sarah's plan was virtually foolproof. Sarah was on watch. She'd make sure the socialite stayed in the ballroom while Chuck headed up to her suite, broke into her room, and took the extravagant and expensive jewelry Roger Pompodoge's significantly younger wife was known for. Sarah would meet him at the room and they'd escape together, out onto the balcony, down the fire escape, and off into the sunset in Sarah's prize Porsche.

Foolproof.

"Sarah, her husband isn't with her."

"What?"

"Mr. Roger the Pot-Bellied One did not accompany his wife to this function," he replied through his teeth. His heart raced as she was silent for a moment.

Roger Pompodoge was an incredibly confident and foolish man. He had hired protection but rarely used it, the reason being that he had military training and was comforted by his own ability to protect himself and his youthful wife. Against the wishes of his aids, he left the guard at home. Which meant tonight would be an easy take. There would be no protection, no one to stop Chuck and Sarah from taking everything Georgiana was worth.

The problem was that Roger Pompodoge was absent from the function, something neither of them had considered. He'd most likely sent her with his guard for protection in his stead.

"Chuck, don't freak out."

"I'm n—Why do you always assume I'm freaking out?"

"Because you are. I can hear it in your voice. Calm down. The plan stays the same. I've got my eye on her. But you better move out from the bar. Looks like that's where she's headed."

"Have you seen what she's married to? It's no wonder she's making a beeline for the bar."

He smiled to himself when he heard the quiet tinkle of Sarah's laughter in his ear. When he could get the usually serious Sarah Walker to emit any kind of amused sound, it set his heart to hammering in his ribcage. The beautiful con artist was hard to crack.

"Chuck?"

"Hm?"

"What are you doing?"

He was moving a little closer to the wall, slinking slowly, rather than moving away from the bar and towards the lobby, like he knew he was supposed to be doing. "Getting a good look at her."

"Do you _really _need to look at her to rob her blind?" There was a tinge of something he couldn't quite place in her voice. It was brittle, grouchy. He distractedly assumed she was annoyed that he wasn't following her orders. Well, who died and made her Queen?

"Change of plans."

"What?!" she whispered through her teeth angrily.

Georgiana Pompodoge stood at the bar, surveyed the party over her shoulder, and turned back, waiting for the bartender to turn around. Chuck moved to the bar, ignoring Sarah's cursing. He stopped a few feet away and lifted two fingers.

The bartender ignored him completely and went to Madame Pompodoge. "Gin and tonic," she ordered with a slight Italian accent. Chuck watched her profile, leaning his elbow on the bar, and turned to the picturesque woman waiting for her drink.

The gin and tonic was set in front of her and she swirled the thin straw and took a sip.

"Looking for something?" she asked in a low voice, her dark brown eyes sliding towards him, then back to her drink.

"Chuck! You just made contact with the mark, you idiot!" he heard Sarah grouse. He ignored her. He had a plan.

"Mm. No. I'm just looking." He tilted his lips up in a bit of a crooked smirk.

"_Oh God_," he heard in his ear.

Georgiana's eyebrows shot up and she took another sip, her tongue licking her lips as she turned towards him. "Hm. Like what you see, Mister…?"

"Carmichael. Charles Carmichael."

"Carmichael, _again_?" came the voice in his ear.

"Can I see your invitation, Mr. Carmichael?"

"Don't have it on me, unfortunately." He snapped his fingers and the bartender appeared. "Very dry martini, Sir. Three measures of Gordon's, one of vodka, half a measure of Kina Lillet. Shake it well until it's ice-cold, then add a large slice of lemon-peel. You get all that?"

The bartender sent him an undisguised look of boredom. "We don't have Kina Lillet."

Chuck's elbow almost slipped off the bar but he recovered quickly. "Oh. Just an old-fashioned then."

Georgiana sipped her drink as Chuck moved closer to her side. "You seem to know a lot about alcohol, Mr. Carmichael. Are you a bartender?"

Sarah laughed in his ear and he fought to keep from flushing.

"No, no. I keep a full stocked bar on my yacht."

"Oh _God_, your yacht," Sarah scoffed. She stood across the room, watching and listening to the exchange, glad they were speaking loud enough for her to pick it up on Chuck's listening device. She watched as Madame Georgiana leaned a little closer. Was Chuck's lame James Bond act really working?

She'd picked up on Chuck's plan the moment he began to approach their mark. He would seduce her and get into her room that way. The guards would be none the wiser, as they were used to their employer's wife picking up men in bars if the tabloids were any indication. It was one of the things well-known about the Pompodoge marriage. It was one of convenience for both parties. Rich families married together, titles claimed, assets acquired, you name it.

Part of Sarah cursed herself. She knew that he never would have made this decision if she hadn't ribbed him all the time about his inability to seduce women for the job. That part of her line of work was simple. It didn't matter that she always managed to get out of actually having sex with the mark. Chuck would be flustered and upset to the point where he'd be silent for a good few hours afterwards. She enjoyed his jealousy, especially when he tried to hide it. It was flattering and it sent warmth through her that hadn't existed before Chuck's entrance into her life.

Chuck, on the other hand, couldn't seduce _anyone_. He'd tried a few times and they'd had to count their loss and pull out. She'd felt sorry for him, even given him a lesson or two. But those lessons usually ended a little awkwardly. The close proximity between the partners had definite effects on him, and the line between professional and personal had been blurred. She'd be lying if she said there weren't moments when his hand against her arm, or the way he swept a strand of her hair behind her ear, the feel of his breath on her ear, made her lose sight of the lesson a little.

But it was human nature. He was the only man she'd been around for the past few years, aside from when her dad would appear out of nowhere between jobs. She was bound to feel tinges of sexual attraction. Chuck was her age, he was tall and had the athletic build she found attractive in men. His eyes were this amber color that reminded her of gold or something. And his hair was dark, thick and curly—She shook her head and narrowed her eyes at the pair leaning even closer towards each other, their elbows on the bar.

Georgiana reached out and touched Chuck's bicep.

"If you don't have your invitation, how'd you get in here?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I fell out of an airplane with no parachute."

Sarah bit her lip, having a hard time not being amused. No matter how many times she'd told Chuck those 007 movies he watched during down time weren't to be used as instruction videos, he never listened.

But she was surprised when the socialite laughed, a pleasant tinkling sound. A sincere sound. And her hand was still on Chuck's arm. He gave her a Chuck grin then and Sarah clenched her jaw subconsciously. He was wasting time. They had jewelry to steal. This was such a stupid idea.

"Did you own that airplane too?" Madame Pompodoge asked.

"No. It belongs to a friend of mine. Mine is much too big to fly in for a small occasion such as this." He made a face and the socialite laughed again. Chuck was being…charming. Maybe because he was being himself?

_Or maybe it's the subject, _her conscience snarked. Sarah grit her teeth again.

"You must be so bored tonight, Mr. Carmichael. A man such as you. A man who jumps out of planes to make an entrance for such a _small occasion_," she flirted, leaning even closer so that their fronts were nearly touching.

Chuck reached over and sipped at his old-fashioned. Sarah wondered if the twitch of his lips was because he absolutely hated bourbon-whiskey. That thought gave her a small bit of satisfaction.

When he set down his glass, his hand reached up calmly swept Georgiana Pompodoge's jet black hair over her shoulder, revealing bare skin. His eyes lingered on it and a small smile graced his lips. "One rises to meet a challenge."

Sarah choked a bit, and reached out blindly to swipe a flute of champagne from the tray a startled waiter rushing by was carrying. She brought it to her lips and gulped it all down. She could almost see the way Madame Pompodoge's black eyes turned purple.

Chuck could feel the weight of the tranq gun against the small of his back where he'd tucked it while getting dressed earlier. He'd assumed then that he wouldn't have to use it. But once he managed to get Madame P into her bedchambers, he'd have to. While the guards were downstairs assuming the Mrs was engaged in…activities, Chuck would pluck the room of any and all goods capable of bringing in a profit. He assumed there would be plenty. Sarah would meet him at the door to her suite and they'd dash away richer than they'd been before.

Foolproof.

"Hmm, well, Mr. Carmichael. It seems I've finished my drink." She lifted the gin and tonic glass and shook it, the ice clinking. She pouted flirtatiously. "Seems the party is over."

"That sounds like a dismissal, madame, and I was rather looking forward to breakfast." He heard a strange sound in his earwig and wondered if it had malfunctioned for a moment. It was…almost like a growl.

The dark eyes widened and the woman licked her lips again, her eyes dropping to Chuck's. She leaned forward even closer. She was maybe two inches taller than Sarah. He wondered for a moment why his partner had stopped muttering taunts in his ear. Perhaps she'd decided to stop distracting him.

"It was _not _a dismissal, Mr. Carmichael."

"Oh? In that case, it's Charles."

"Hm…Charles. You may call me Georgiana."

"I intend to." His hand slid around her waist to the small of her back, meeting the bare skin that was revealed by the plunging back line of the dress she wore.

His earwig malfunctioned again.

"Usually I have one drink at the bar and go back to my room for champagne." She leaned forward and her lips ghosted across his. "Sometimes I'm alone. But I don't always like to be alone."

"That so?"

"Mhm."

"Well, a gentleman has no choice but to escort the lady to her room. There may be all sorts of bad men around these parts, lurking in the shadows and behind pillars." He kissed her back, tugging her closer. He pulled his lips from hers with a soft smack. "And a gentleman doesn't enter a lady's room unless he's asked."

"You kiss me like that again, Carmichael—"

"Charles."

She giggled. "Charles…And I'll be begging for you to come in."

"That won't be necessary." He slammed his money on the bar and rounded her waist with his arm, walking away from the bar and towards the lobby.

Sarah watched the couple leave the room, their eyes smoldering, their hands grasping, their pace quick and…almost desperate. And she fought the impulse to follow.

Five minutes. She just had to stay here for five minutes, and then she could go up.

She grabbed another flute of champagne from a passing tray and downed it, deciding again that she hated this damn stupid plan.

}o{

The champagne was rolled into the room and the door was shut promptly. Madame Pompodoge's arms were around his shoulders and she was kissing him wantonly. He kissed her back, staggering a bit.

She pulled away, and turned so that her back was to him. "I'm assuming you're a man who's good with a zipper."

Chuck thought of the listening device on his lapel and of the person listening for a moment, then bit his lip, pushing Sarah from his mind. "You assume correct, Madame." His fingers attached to the zipper at the side of her dress and slid it down, revealing black lacy underwear and lots and lots of smooth skin.

"Was that a zipper?" Sarah asked in his ear.

He ignored her and swept Georgiana's hair from her shoulder, setting his lips to her skin at the base of her neck. She let out a soft moan, then giggled.

"Chuck, tranq her already."

"Champagne?" his mark asked as his lips moved along her shoulder and his fingers slipped under the strap of her gown.

"Mm, yes, please."

"You make yourself comfortable and I'll pour."

Chuck grinned and walked to the bed and sat. He thought to take his shoes off, but then changed his mind. He and Sarah would have to make a fast escape and it'd be silly, really, if he had to spend a minute of their getaway time getting his shoes back on.

When she finished pouring the champagne, Georgiana turned and made to walk towards him, but stopped suddenly. A chill swept through Chuck. She figured it out. She was on to him. He knew it. He had to alert Sarah—

"Oh! But we can't have champagne until I get into something more comfortable."

Chuck covered a sigh of relief with his hand against his mouth, then he covered _that_ by blowing a slightly awkward kiss at her. "You do what you gotta do, Darling. I'll wait here."

She walked to him and handed him a glass of champagne, setting hers on the bedside table. "Don't cheat and sip that while I'm gone," she said in a sultry voice, leaning down to kiss the underside of his jaw. He swallowed.

"No, no. Cheaters never prosper."

"Chuck, what are you doing?" Sarah asked.

"I'll, uh, wait here." He saluted her with the glass as she sauntered into her adjoining restroom. When she disappeared inside, he put his lips against the lapel of his jacket. "She's changing into something more comfortable."

"Are you serious? Just bust in there and tranq her already. Then get the freaking jewelry. Why are you taking so long?"

She sounded angry. Very, _very _angry.

"Well, yeah…but…I mean, that's not very nice. Bursting into a woman's bathroom and shooting her in the face with a tranq pistol!" he whispered back.

"I never said anything about shooting her in the face." She let out an annoyed huff. "You know what? Forget it. I'm coming up there."

"No, no. I've got this. I can do this."

"Go in there and do it then."

"But—"

"Chuck, if you're waiting to see her in whatever 'comfortable' means, I swear I will kick your ass."

Chuck blanched. "That's not—"

Georgiana opened the door to the bathroom and swung around the doorframe, standing in a flimsy silk robe that was quite nearly see-through. Chuck fought back the urge to vomit or jump out of the window, or both at the same time (a messy prospect). And instead, he kept his face calm, cool, collected.

He stood from the bed and tilted his head with a raised eyebrow.

"Hmm. Well, that's a pretty little nothing you're almost wearing."

She laughed and ran her hands slowly down her sides. "You like it?"

"What's not to like?"

"_Chuck_, I'm coming up there," Sarah growled. "Be there in two minutes."

Madame P lifted the champagne flute from the bedside table and clinked it against Chuck's, then took a long draw from it. "Mm, champagne goes well with sex, doesn't it?"

Chuck choked a little on the champagne sliding down his throat and disguised it as a laugh. "That it does," he rasped, grinning at her. Before he could say anything else, she'd set down her flute and climbed onto his lap, pushing his back down against the bed so that he nearly spilled the rest of his champagne. "Heyo! I, uh…And I thought Christmas only came once a year."

The malfunctioning in his earwig was louder this time and he thought he heard Sarah mutter, "Are you _fucking_ kidding me?" but he couldn't be sure.

His tranq pistol poked him in the back and it legitimately hurt like hell.

"So who are you really?"

"Haha…oh. Uh…roleplay?" he tried.

"Very funny. What do you want with me?"

"What do you mean? I thought I made that perfectly clear. I—" She reached into his ear and pulled his earwig out. His mouth felt rather fuzzy. His lips tingled…and he was…tired.

"Oh, that…right…I—"

"And those stupid James Bond quotes? What kind of a girl would _ever_ think that was sexy?"

"Uh, I—" He swallowed thickly, his eyelids fluttering. Where was Sarah? All he could think about was Sarah. Why wasn't she here already? Her hair looked really pretty tonight. He always liked missions where they'd get to dress up fancy. She looked amazing in anything, really, but Sarah Walker in fancy gowns? It was the stuff dreams were made of.

Speaking of dreams, he was really tired. His eyelids shut and he was aware of a darkness descending over him. And then there was nothing else.

}o{

"Chuck? Chuck!" Sarah spoke into her bangle, anger and something else she wasn't willing to admit was there churned in her belly. He wasn't answering her, which meant one of two things. He was otherwise indisposed making love to a woman who was nothing short of a runway model, or he had been knocked out. If it was the former, she would kill him. And if it was the latter, she'd rescue him first…and then kill him.

She rushed up the stairs two at a time. As she reached the top landing, she leaned down and slipped a blade from where it was tucked into the heel of her right shoe. It was easier to access than the knives strapped to her thigh and her gun would draw too much attention at this point.

"Chuck, do you copy?"

Nothing.

With a growl, she rushed down the hallway towards Room 208, where Chuck was either pinned beneath his mark in the throes of passion, unconscious, or dead.

Sarah's heart raced as she sped up at the last thought. He couldn't be dead already. She needed him. He was her partner. Her tech guy. Her computer nerd. Everything would be so much harder for her from here on out.

Her breath hitched as she saw the door cracked open.

_Everything._

Pulling her S&W out of her handbag, she cocked it and put her back against the wall beside the door, shutting her eyes to take a moment to find her center. Calmly opening her eyes again, she swung into the room, ready to shoot.

The room was empty.

Chuck's tranq gun was on the floor beside the bed and his jacket was draped over the pillows.

But that wasn't what made her heart stop.

There were red smudges and drops along the carpet, going from the bed to the balcony doors. Fighting to keep from losing focus, Sarah rushed to the glass double doors and out into the cool night air.

More blood.

And Chuck was nowhere to be found.

Her eyes stung and he vision blurred, and there was a throbbing ache in her chest. She brought her wrist up to her lips. "Chuck? Chuck, can you hear me?" Her voice broke. She knew he couldn't hear her, and she felt foolish for even trying, for she'd seen the smashed earwig and listening device beside his gun.

Chuck was gone.

Swinging onto the fire escape, she rushed down the stairs to the ground and ran the rest of the way back to her Porsche, heels in hand. She'd need to change her clothes, definitely.

Because she was getting Chuck back.

She was getting her man back.

}o{

"You think it's amusing?" Another punch to Chuck's jaw. He let out a gasping breath and dropped to his knees.

"I don't remember laughing," he muttered. "I'm just a playboy…got in over his…head."

"Pretty fancy gear you had in that ear of yours, Mister Bond," the other henchman said, tugging at Chuck's ear and wrenching him back to his feet. They'd taken to calling him Mister Bond for the last two hours of relentless taunting and beating.

As long as they didn't figure out that he'd meant to steal every last bit of their employer's valuables, he figured all he'd get was a good beating and get tossed out into the alleyway. He'd paid attention to where they were taking him. It was a talent he was mightily proud of. When he was a kid, he was fascinated with Sherlock Holmes. Holmes was always aware of his surroundings; every bump in the road, every window and every squeaking pub sign, every splash through a puddle. If he was kidnapped, he'd be able to tell where he was just by smelling, feeling, and listening.

He was in the basement of a well-known pub. Il Bacio Divino. Roger Pompodoge owned it. Sarah would find him here. It also helped that he'd activated his tracking device on the sole of his shoe.

Then again, there was a chance Sarah would count her losses and split. It was the smart thing to do. Or maybe she could take advantage of the empty room, take the jewelry like they'd planned, and _then_ split.

Chuck didn't want to think that way about her. It was unfair. True, she was cunning and sometimes ruthless. She had no qualms about using the piece she kept with her at all times. And she sometimes had such a potty mouth.

But she wouldn't abandon a partner.

Right?

Another fist slammed into his gut and he doubled over, fighting to keep standing.

As the third man of the violent threesome stepped closer, Chuck was overcome by a near debilitating amount of anger. It descended over him like a fiery hot blanket.

He straightened, bringing his fist up to connect with the man's jaw, then swung around to block the second man's attack. He smacked the fist away with one arm and brought his other around to connect with his attacker's nose.

Blood spurted from the broken face as he spun around to meet the third henchman. He barely saw the two by four by the time it crashed into his shoulder.

Giving out a ragged cry of pain, Chuck Bartowski sunk to his knees and plopped face first into the dust. He felt it cake onto his bleeding face and he lay there, gasping in pain for a few seconds.

"You stupid fuck. You broke Mario's nose. And Mario doesn't like havin' his nose broken."

"Oh yeah? I'm sorry, Mario," Chuck rasped with a small smile on his face. "Maybe we can find you a fire flower and you can shoot little fireballs at me." Chuck laughed at his own joke. Apparently, even though he hadn't understood what Chuck had said, the small beefy Italian knew a mocking laugh when he heard one, so he swung a foot and it landed squarely against Chuck's ribcage.

He cried out, coughing and clutching at his chest. There had been some sort of cracking feeling and he was certain one of his ribs was cracked or broken.

"We gotta funny guy here, boys," the first henchman said, leaning down and looking into Chuck's face. "I like to laugh. You like to laugh, Johnny?"

"Oh, I love to laugh, Benno."

"Mhm. Mario loves to laugh, too," Benno said. He reached down and grabbed Chuck by his hair, tugging him painfully back to his feet and laughing in his face. The other two laughed as well and Chuck's body was met with another barrage of painful punches and kicks.

As he lie on the ground, blinking up at the swinging lightbulb, the only source of light in the room, he was struck by how incredibly Boondock Saints this scene was. He was most likely bleeding to death from the stab wound in his leg that he'd obtained in Pompodoge's suite when he'd attempted to escape. Compliments of Madame Pompodoge herself. Where she'd stashed the damn thing, Chuck couldn't know.

Sarah had an uncanny skill at hiding weapons on her person as well.

It was something Chuck would never understand.

And it seemed like he didn't have much longer to worry about it, really.

The swinging bulb cast dancing shadows over his three attackers' menacing faces. He thought at least Mario might look ridiculous with his screwed up nose and the blood on his face. But no, of course not.

Instead he looked even more terrifying. And a lot angrier.

This was such a bummer.

He inwardly scoffed at the understatement as Mario, who was standing between his fellow thugs, turned around, bent, and stood with the two by four clutched tightly in his fist.

"We're letting Mario here finish you off." "You guys won't kill me," Chuck mumbled. "I didn't do anything."

"You were planning on it. Wasn't he, boys? You were gonna take Mrs. Pompodoge's jewelry. That's enough for us. Then you broke Mario here's nose. You just keep digging a deeper hole for yourself, buddy boy." Benno nodded to Mario who raised the long plank of wood over his head.

Well, this wasn't the best way to go. Getting your head smashed in by a plank of wood.

All of the fear and tension suddenly left his body as he thought of Sarah Walker. He thought of the last three years of working by her side. The look on her face in the morning when he was much too chipper for her—her tired eyes narrowed at him and the pout that made her look like a little girl again, the whining voice that told him to stop it. Or the times they'd be researching their next job, Chuck tapping away on the keyboard of his laptop while she cleaned her weapons. They never had to speak or even look at each other. Almost as one, they'd known what to do, and just being in the same room with her felt so good. The sound of her laugh, those rare times he'd gotten her to laugh, that is. The way she'd screw her mouth to the side and look down to keep herself from smiling at his teasing remarks. The times they'd gone into a job undercover as a couple, married or otherwise, and she'd clung to his arm, whispered in his ear, kissed him…Oh, especially the kisses. The dancing…

A dreamy smile overcame his lips as he thought of the one time he'd gotten pretty beaten up after jumping out of a two-story window and landing in some bushes. Sarah had forced him to lie in bed while she massaged the pain out of his limbs. He'd never forgotten it.

He trusted her with everything in him, even at the beginning when he could almost see at times when her blue eyes were gray and stormy as she struggled to decide whether to kill him and be done with it, or trust him. Whether she'd ever learned to trust him or not, he trusted her. God, did he trust her.

The board came down on his head, but in a much pleasanter fashion than he'd assumed. Almost like it'd been dropped accidentally instead of swung down to crack open his skull.

Then a body fell onto him and a trickle of blood came from Mario's mouth and pooled on Chuck's shirt. "UGH!" He shoved the body off with his remaining strength and sat up. A knife he recognized protruded out of the man's back.

Sarah Walker was dressed in her preferred black leather cat suit, easily catching Benno's arm as he made to hit her and twisting it around behind his back. Her other arm swung around and she pulled the knife across his throat with a violent jerk.

His body dropped at her feet and she glared dangerously at Johnny. He whimpered in fear as she pulled her gun out from its holster at her hip, her blue eyes flashing red. She pointed it at his forehead, her finger tightening a bit on the trigger.

Johnny crumpled to the ground. Sarah blinked, the cloud of vengeful rage dissipating as she saw Chuck, broken and bleeding, standing over Johnny's unconscious body, the two by four clutched in his hands.

He dropped it and brought his arm across his mouth, smudging the blood from the corner of his lip.

Sarah stared at him in awe. He'd always overextended himself to keep a person alive if it could be helped. And for once, Sarah was glad he'd interceded. She'd been in a whirlwind of intense anger and fear.

When she'd entered the basement from the outer doors and had seen Chuck lying prone on the ground, unmoving…She thought he was dead. Her breath hitched as she thought of it again. The pain, anguish, terror—it was all there again, swirling through her gut.

She fought back the nausea and focused on the fact that Chuck was standing, he was alive. She'd arrived in time.

"Sarah…" His knees wobbled a bit and he pitched forward.

She caught him securely in her arms, keeping him standing and shifting his weight so that his arm was over her shoulders and he was leaning heavily on her. "Come on, Chuck. Let's get you out of here before someone hears."

"Sarah…" She bit her lip to keep from crying when he turned his face into her hair and breathed out in utter relief.

"It's okay, Chuck. I'm here. You're okay."

She got him safely to her Porsche and eased him into the passenger seat, buckling him in and hurrying to her side. During the drive back to their hotel room across the city, she'd checked the rearview mirrors every two or three minutes to look for any tails. When she wasn't doing that or focusing on the tiny cobblestone streets and oncoming cars, she was looking over to Chuck who grimaced at every bump. He was caked in dirt and blood and his brow was furrowed in pain.

But the worst of it was when she realized he'd been wounded pretty badly. They'd passed under the street lamp and she saw the dark stain of blood against his pant leg. Had he been shot? Stabbed?

That must have been what had produced all of the blood she saw in the Pompodoge suite.

Twenty minutes later, Sarah skillfully snuck Chuck back into their hotel room and helped him lie back against the pillows of their bed. She had spread towels beneath him to keep from getting blood on the hotel sheets, and felt ridiculous for doing so. They'd stolen this hotel room with someone else's credit card anyways.

And her hands were shaking as she wet the wash cloth in the bathroom with warm water. They were still shaking as she undid his belt and pants, tugging them down to his ankles and revealing an angry gash on his outer left thigh.

Tears rushed out of her eyes as she pressed her lips tightly together, sniffling but keeping her head enough to wipe at the wound to clear the blood. "Chuck, how you doing? You okay?" she asked in a strong voice.

"Mm, yep." A tight smile crossed his face and he went back to grimacing, his blood-stained hands tangling in the towels to resist the pain. "Is that, uh…That very deep or…a mere flesh wound?" he finished in a silly British accent.

Sarah let out a wet laugh, recognizing the line from the stupid Monty Python movie he'd made her watch once. He'd found it on pay per view and caught her at a weak moment, and they'd had a few hours to kill.

"You'll live, Chuck. I just have to stitch it up."

"Wha—What?"

"I'm sorry, but we can't go to a hospital. You know I can do this better than a doctor anyways." She sniffed again and began threading the needle from the first aid kit. Sarah wondered if he'd passed out when he didn't answer, so she snuck a look up at him.

Chuck reclined back, his bruised face almost making her cry again, but his swirling brown eyes were staring at her softly. Almost tenderly. She'd seen the look before, and she'd hid from it. She hadn't wanted their partnership sullied by such an empty, paltry thing like love. She couldn't afford to have Chuck feel that way about her.

But she realized at this moment, as their eyes met, tears dripping down her cheeks again, that the love had always been there. She'd just never known it.

She'd pretended it wasn't there.

"Chuck, this is going to hurt. A lot. But you gotta trust me, okay?"

He nodded, forcing a smile on his face. "Always."

When she grinned back, his smile seemed easier, and he nodded again, stuffing a clean washcloth between his teeth and bracing his hands against the headrest as well as he could with the way his shoulder ached. It took awhile for her to stitch his leg wound and his boxer shorts ended up stained with his blood, as well as the towels beneath and Sarah's hands.

She'd blinked away a great many tears as Chuck made muffled sounds that relayed just how much pain he was in. He'd always had a very low threshold for pain. And she remembered the time he'd dislocated his shoulder making a bad land when he'd been forced to bail out of a car. He'd argued with her for an hour, refusing to let her set it. And when she had, he'd had tears in his eyes, but tried in vain to hide them.

Now, his pained, ragged whimpers that forced out between his clenched teeth were understandable, and she hated how much they hurt her. Focusing on the task at hand, she finally finished, wiping the leftover blood from his leg, bandaging the wound, and going to the bathroom to wash her hands and arms.

She half-staggered out of the bathroom after splashing water on her face and sat beside him again, wiping his face, hurrying to the ice machine down the hallway and coming back with a bucket of ice for the swollen knot on his head, his aching jaw, and what she'd diagnosed to be a bruised rib rather than cracked or broken.

She wrapped some ice in an extra pillowcase she found on the shelf in the closet and held it to the injured rib. "Make sure you breathe normally. Don't breathe shallow to avoid the pain because you may get an infection if you do that."

"Thanks, Doctor Walker," he chuckled, then winced painfully.

Sarah smiled.

Without realizing what she was doing, she reached over and pushed a stray curl away from his forehead. She gave him painkillers and helped him sit up a bit in the bed so that he was more comfortable, propping the pillows behind him. He suffered through it all, his only response being the hissing noises he emitted when his rib or leg were jolted by the movement.

"You okay? Need anything else? Water?"

"Nah, I'm good. Actually, I don't feel as bad as I ought to, maybe." He paused, looking down at his hands that she'd cleaned while she washed the rest of the blood off of him from his ordeal. Again, he'd been utterly surprised by her tears while she'd cared for him. A few times, he would open his mouth to say something, then change his mind when he realized he had no idea what to say.

When she finished cleaning him down, she eased the soiled towels out from under him and discarded them, leaving him on the bedspread in his boxers, still stained with his own dried blood.

"Well, I'm getting out of this and into something more comfortable."

Chuck laughed outright, ignoring the shooting pain in his ribcage. Sarah turned to give him an odd look, realized what she'd just said, and laughed as well. "Oh, shut up, you freakin' nerd." She walked over to her suitcase, the suitcase she never unpacked, and pulled a pair of exercise pants out. She kicked off her boots and socks, unzipped the cat suit, peeled it off of her body, and went to the closet wearing nothing but her bra and underwear. As she hung the cat suit in the closet, she felt the hair on the back of her neck standing up.

She was close to naked and Chuck was just a couple of feet away. She'd undressed in front of him thousands of times. In desperate situations, when a disguise is needed, sexual attraction is the last thing on your mind when you're in close quarters, shedding clothes and sweating bullets.

But now, especially after he'd almost been taken from her, and with the realization that she truly and sincerely loved him, being like this in front of him felt different. And she was suddenly a little embarrassed. She quickly pulled her pants on and grabbed the first t-shirt she could from a hanger in the closet. It was one of Chuck's. She slipped it on and looked at it for a moment, rolling her eyes. It said "Battletoads" and had a musclebound frog standing on its hind legs like a human, gritting its teeth viciously. Stupid, stupid shirt.

He was such a nerd.

She loved him so much.

"Sarah, thank you."

She almost started at his voice and turned to smile at him, pulling her hairband out and letting her hair fall over her shoulders in waves. "Don't mention it."

"No, I mean it."

She padded over to him in her bare feet and sat on the edge of the bed next to him. "You're welcome, Chuck."

"You saved my life."

A shrug. "I know. You would've done the same for me."

"Because we're partners." He gave her a small smile and she thought it seemed a little melancholy. "Through thick and thin."

"We're more than that, Chuck."

"Right, we're friends."

Sarah rolled her eyes and bit her lip, feeling a spike of nerves that she immediately bashed out of her system as though she wielded Thor's hammer. _Oh God, Sarah Walker. He's making a nerd out of you. _She paused, looking into his eyes, her hand reaching out to readjust the ice on his rib. _I don't even care_, she answered herself.

"Chuck, you idiot. That's not what I mean."

His small smile died down as his eyes widened in wonder. This man had braved gunfire, knife fights, running through labyrinthian buildings at breakneck speed with feds at his heels. He'd cracked codes to servers set up by the smartest computer scientists in the world, hacked into encrypted databases, stolen from banks, well-known government officials, priceless art collectors. He'd gone head to head with some of the worst Colombian crime lords, drug smugglers and traffickers.

And yet in moments like this, when he looked at her, all of that faded away. He was just a man. A man who cared about her. The only person in the world she could say truly cared for her. He saw her at her weakest, and at her strongest. And he yearned for her. She could almost feel it some nights when they lie in bed and she felt his eyes on her even when her own eyes were shut. She felt safe and warm, like nothing could touch her. Invincible. He made her feel that way.

She'd mistreated him, she knew. Purposefully making him jealous, dismissing his feelings, shrugging off his kind gestures at times, raising walls around her to protect herself from him when he'd never do anything to hurt her. She'd always known that, from the very beginning when he couldn't shoot that tranq gun at her the first moment they'd met. Chuck would never hurt her. And yet she'd protected herself from him anyways. She wondered if it had hurt him.

Of course it had.

Sarah made a decision.

"I love you."

The room was deathly silent.

"Ch-Chuck, did you hear me?"

He shook his head, as if trying to get himself out of a stupor, then sat up a bit more, wincing. "Y-Yeah, I—" He swallowed, eyes wider than saucers. "I heard you." His face melted into one of his signature Chuck Bartowski grins and her heart began to beat madly against her chest.

"You mean everything in the world to me, Chuck. _Everything. _And tonight when I went into the Pompodoge suite and saw that they'd taken you, I felt my whole life crashing down around my ears. I cou—" Her next breath came out in a semi-sob and his hand immediately shot out to wrap hers in a snug embrace. She felt him squeeze and everything from the past few hours, the terror, the blinding anger, the regret…it all seeped out of her as though it was never there.

She squeezed his hand back.

"I could almost feel my life fading. I never knew just how important you were to me until I thought I'd lost you. I'm so stupid. And after everything we've been through since we met, everything we've been to each other…Chuck, you're my family. My father doesn't count. I'm—I love you. I love you so much. And when I saw you on the ground under those fucking bastards, and I thought you were dead—I wanted to die. I know I'm supposed to be tough…" Tears began flooding out of her eyes again, dripping down her cheeks, falling from her chin onto her lap. He just watched, his hand holding hers tightly, the other one moving to rest warmly on her hand that held the ice to his ribs. "I'm not supposed to feel this way about anybody. That's what Dad always said when I was a little girl, you know. The people you trust fail you in the end, he said." She sniffled, and let out a small cough. "But that's not true. He was lying to me. He never trusted anyone, not even me, and now he's out there alone. He thought he was protecting himself by doing that, and protecting me by trying to make me just like him. But you—"

He sat up and leaned forward, lifting his hand from the ice pack and gently pushing her hair back behind her ear, his thumb wiping the tears from her cheek. She sniffled and looked into his eyes.

"Chuck, I have you, and I'm so much stronger because of it. I'm safer than my dad will ever be because I love you. I trust you. You protect me," she breathed, reaching up to stroke his jaw where a nasty bruise had already formed.

"I'll always protect you, Sarah," he said reverently, his amber eyes swimming with emotion.

"I know." She grinned through her tears. "God, I didn't mean to say all of that. I'm turning into you, babbling like an idiot," she giggled.

"Hey now. Don't you think I've been through enough tonight?"

"Oh come on, Bartowski. Man up."

A pillow swung into her face and she nearly toppled off the bed. She giggled and stared flabbergasted at him, her mouth open wide. "Oh, that's it." As gently as she could, she straddled him and pushed him back against the pillows. "You're lucky you've got a bruised rib."

"And I got stabbed in the leg."

"That too." She rested her forehead against his and set her hands on his shoulders, keeping her weight from resting all the way on his lap to keep from hurting him. "Chuck, you scared me so bad."

"I know. I'm sorry."

She nodded, shutting her eyes as she felt emotions bubble up from her chest again. She clamped her lips together to keep them from trembling, one hand moving up to gently cup his face.

"Sarah, I love you too. You know that, right? I have from the moment I first saw you."

She giggled, looking into his eyes in the low lamplight and raising an eyebrow. "You sure that wasn't me being naked?"

"Mm, maybe."

They laughed and he gingerly reached up to wrap his arms around her, tugging her closer. "I don't wanna hurt you," she breathed, resisting his pull.

"You won't. C'mere."

She carefully laid against him and set her lips to the bruises on his face, moving slowly along his discolored skin before settling on his mouth. She kissed him softly at first, but when his arms tightened around her, she deepened the kiss with a soft moan, and an identical thrill shot through each of their bodies.

When she pulled her lips from hers, he let out a soft whistle. "Sarah Walker, you're better than painkillers."

"You're such a fucking sap."

He laughed, his chest bouncing against hers, and she was suddenly aware of the fact that he wore nothing but his stained boxer shorts. Her hand lowered to run along his torso, feeling his muscles twitch.

He kissed her again and she pulled away to sit up, tugging his Battletoads shirt up over her head and tossing it to the end of the bed. Chuck's eyes nearly popped out of his head as she leaned forward to languidly kiss his neck.

His eyelids fluttered and he groaned. "S-Sarah, we—I mean, three years. I-I trust you too. I always have. You saved my life. And you're beautiful, the most gorgeous woman in the world. And I love you. Not just because of that. You're such a bad ass. And that's really sexy. I don't know how many people have told you that. But the fact that you can kick my ass to Timbuktu and back is so incredibly sexy."

"Chuck, why don't you try the James Bond thing and maybe be a little less babbly, huh?" She kissed up to his jaw and ran her hands up his chest.

"Uh, right. Right. James Bond. What would 007 do?"

"I've never seen a full 007 movie, Chuck, and I still know exactly what 007 would do. Why don't you try it?"

"Uh, okay."

"What was that about one rising to meet a challenge?" she asked, resting her weight on his lap.

He bit back a groan.

"Pierce Brosnan said that in—"

"Chuck."

"Yeah?"

"Shut up and love me."

His grin exploded onto his face, and her entire body erupted with butterflies and fire and that probably wasn't very safe for the butterflies, but…

God, she really was becoming a nerd.

They fell back against the pillows as Sarah tugged the sheets down with one arm. Night was slowly melding into morning, but with the curtains drawn tightly, neither would have known it.

The mission wasn't a successful one, though Chuck had managed to slip Georgiana's diamond bracelet off of her wrist at the bar. He'd give it to Sarah in the morning. It wasn't the millions of dollars they'd expected to walk away with, but it was something.

Besides, none of the money would have meant anything if they weren't together to share it…_really _share it. For the rest of their lives, they'd never split their take down the middle. It would be theirs…together.

* * *

**A/N: **So I invented story-breaks that look like TIE fighters. If you squint.

Because it amuses me.

Hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. It all happened spur of the moment, in one crazy, mind-blowing, face-hurting day. And I felt a little stir crazy and tingly all over when it was done.

Don't be surprised if another "ficlet" (scoffs) pops up in here that takes place in this same world. I can see myself wanting to mess around with con artist Chuck and Sarah. It won't follow an overarching plot, exactly. Just snippets of time in the world. It'll be something fun for me to work on, to play with characterizations, and the world I've created. Keep your eyes open!

'Til next time, my friends!


	2. Con Game Christmas

**A/N: **It's not Christmas anymore. And I get that. I do. But I thought you guys wouldn't mind too much if I posted this Christmas fic anyway, right? Right. This takes earlier on in Chuck and Sarah's partnership, so don't be surprised if there's a lack of sap.

Ahem...no one said there'd be a lack of romance, though. I honestly can't help myself.

AU, Sarah POV. Sarah's forced to face her demons when it comes to the holidays.

Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, and/or favorited the first part of this story. As I said before, this won't be a complete story, as much as it's a universe I'm going to have fun playing in. Mostly, it's a vehicle for Chuck and Sarah's character growth, and some fun romance-ish things.

**Disclaimer:** I own nada. That includes Chuck. Although, because I haven't seen it before, I do own this Con Game universe. I'm rather proud of it, in fact.

Enjoy, my lovelies!

* * *

"This seat taken?"

Sarah quirked an eyebrow and set her compostable coffee cup down, keeping her hands clasped tightly around it for warmth as she peered over her shoulder at the source of the voice. He was gesturing to the plush reading chair two feet away.

"Uh, no," she said with a polite but disinterested smile.

She turned back to the window and watched people pick up their pace along the sidewalks of downtown Buffalo as the snow began to fall heavier. As she brought the cup to her lips and let the hot liquid ease into her mouth and down her throat, she heard the man that had just sat down clear his throat.

Sarah merely took another sip.

"Falling pretty hard out there, isn't it?"

She sighed. "Mhm. It is."

"Yeah." He paused and she saw in her peripheral that he wiped his hands down his pant legs nervously, back and forth, back and forth, until he gave up doing that and instead folded his arms at his chest. He cleared his throat again. "Been snowing a lot here…in Buffalo…this year. Hasn't it?"

"I wouldn't know."

"Oh. Right. You not from here?"

She turned to look at him. His eyes were interested, warm, hopeful, but his lips were quivering, and his Adam's apple kept bobbing up and down. His Converse sneakers, inappropriate footwear for the snow quite honestly, were tapping nervously on the hardwood floor beneath them.

"No, I'm not," she finally answered. Withholding a roll of her eyes, she instead raised her eyebrows. "Are you?"

"No, I'm just visiting."

"Visiting Buffalo?" she asked, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. "Hottest vacation spot in the US, huh?"

"Ha!" He pointed at her, his grin crooked but luminous. She felt her spirit lift a little at the sight and silently cursed herself. Now was not the time for this. "Yeah. Not exactly Maui, is it? Actually, I have family here."

"That makes more sense."

"And you?"

She sent him a sharp look.

"I, uh…Gosh, I'm sorry. It's not any of my business why you're here. I'm a bit of an…I had Chinese food for lunch and I said no MSG but I think they must have put it in anyways." She raised an eyebrow as he worked his mouth open and closed rather like a suffocating fish. "Because MSG…makes you…never mind."

She smiled a little at the bashful way he looked down at his feet and slapped a little beat on his knees with his palms. "I got it, thanks."

"Right. 'Course ya did." His lips widened into a self-deprecating smile as he looked out of the window and took a deep breath.

Sarah heard the woman sitting at the table behind her fold up the newspaper she'd been reading and begin to stand from her chair.

"Uh, aren't you getting a drink?" she asked the gangly man who made a goofy picture sitting in the chair so low to the ground. His long legs were bent awkwardly so that his knees were almost at chest level and he was hunched a little forward. It made him look rather like a giant sitting in a chair made for a child.

His eyes flicked up to the woman standing behind her before dropping back down. "I was going to, but…Well, the truth is…You're…" He cleared his throat again and Sarah heard the woman's boot heels clicking as she walked to the exit of the coffee shop. "You caught my eye," the man continued.

Sarah's eyes fastened on him and she smiled a little. It wasn't the first time she'd heard something like that. The door opened and the sounds of a garbage truck driving by flooded the serene atmosphere inside of the shop, not quite overpowering the sound of the bell jingling.

The young woman waited until the door closed and the woman that sat behind her passed by the window at her right, disappearing from view shortly thereafter.

"Black Mamba has left the building," the man muttered under his breath.

She turned to raise an eyebrow at him.

"What?"

He returned her look, but then his eyes flicked to the side and back to her. "Sorry, uh…I'm a nerd." He blanched. "I shouldn't have—Gosh, I'm—I'll just leave you to your coffee, then. Not everyday I admit I'm a nerd to a beautiful girl in a coffee shop."

Sarah smirked and flicked her thumb over the lid's slot for drinking, popping the small bubble that formed there. "No, please." She giggled. "It's okay."

She tilted her head to the side and tapped her foot on the ground twice. There was a flicker in the man's brown eyes, so subtle that she almost missed it. "I, uh…you don't want me to leave?"

"Mm, I guess not."

"Is it because I called you beautiful?"

She laughed. "Maybe. Or maybe it's because I'm having a bad day and you've made me laugh."

He frowned a little, his brows knit. Then he scooted his chair a bit closer. It made an obnoxious sound as the legs scraped against the wood floors and he grimaced at the sound. He looked over his shoulder sheepishly at the glaring teenager behind the counter, then turned back and rubbed his hands on his pants again.

"Uh…" He dragged his hands down his face and sat up a bit straighter, seeming to have gathered his wits a little. "You said you're having a bad day? Anything I can help with?"

She gave him a grimacing smile and shrugged, sipping her coffee again. "No, probably not. But thank you."

"Nothing like a good cup o' Joe to warm away the worries, huh? And some peace and quiet?"

She sent him a look and he blushed again, grinning good-naturedly and leaning back a bit.

"Right. Minus the peace and quiet." He chuckled and shook his head. "I'm sorry. You probably get this a lot when you go places to be alone. Doofuses like me hounding you."

An attractive young man stood up from the table in the opposite corner, pulling on his trench coat and buttoning it, then tugging his brown beanie over his straight blonde hair. He slipped his computer bag over his shoulder and walked through the coffee shop and out of the door.

"Sidewinder is out," Sarah breathed under her breath as the door shut behind the young man.

"I mean…I don't wanna be like the other guys who probably approach you at bars and stuff, but would you believe me if I told you I'm nothing like any of them?"

"I'm not sure. It depends." She lowered her voice and almost whispered, "Coachwhip?"

"Coachwhip left about fifteen minutes ago."

Her shoulders sagged and she shut her eyes, leaning back against her chair. "That's the entire Serpent Society."

"Yup."

"Jesus _Christ_, Chuck. Have we ever scraped by that close before?" Sarah rubbed a hand down her face and quite nearly chugged the rest of her coffee. Her fingers tingled and she felt adrenaline bursting through her body.

By the look on his face, Chuck seemed to be experiencing the same feeling. "We always get away, Sarah."

"Yeah, but—God, that was close."

"They were in here. With us." He swallowed thickly.

"I know. But, uh…Good call with the code names. What the hell is the Serpent Society anyways?" She watched him purse his lips and drum his fingers against his knees. "I don't want to know. It's from your stupid comic books, isn't it?"

"I'm not sure how to answer that. If I say yes, that's acknowledging that my comic books are stupid. If I say no, I might confuse you into thinking the Serpent Society isn't from comics, and it is."

Sarah swore Chuck enjoyed getting a rise out of her, so she gave him a short glare and shook her head, unable to keep the smile from twitching at the edges of her mouth. He must have noticed because he was grinning.

"Let's get out of here before they realize we aren't just a hot coffee enthusiast and a gutsy nerd, but the very same con team who beat them to a two million dollar prize." She stood up and tossed her empty coffee cup into the nearby compost bin. Chuck stood up behind her and reached down to pick up Sarah's messenger bag, hoisting the strap onto his shoulder and setting a hand to her back.

Sarah Walker feasted her eyes on the bag that hung at his side, knowing that she was a cool million dollars richer than she'd been because of what rested within that bag. And the scariest thing wasn't that they'd barely escaped with their lives, or even that they'd had to act their way out of being apprehended and killed by their rival con team. It was that Chuck had possession of their money and she trusted him intuitively. This was the best take they'd gotten in almost eight months. And she had every certainty that if he chose to tranq her and run, there'd be nothing she could do about it.

She trusted him so much that it worried her sometimes.

If Chuck Bartowski chose to betray her, it would be so easy—_too _easy.

But he wouldn't do that. Never.

And so she walked beside him, her eyes scanning the streets and sidewalks as they trudged through the snow. If she saw any neon blonde woman, or the blonde guy with the beanie, or even the short, pretty brunette anywhere on the street, she'd know they'd lured them out to trap them. And perhaps there wouldn't even be time to do anything about it.

But so far, so good.

When she chanced a quick peek at Chuck's profile, she saw he was doing the same. Sometimes she wondered if she gave him enough credit. His acting prowess was impressive, the way he seemingly became an alternate universe version of himself—a nerdy but confident man with the ability to charm just about any woman if she's straight.

_Stop being a sucker, Sarah Walker._

"I gotta say, you were pretty impressive back there. You did a pretty convincing job pretending you weren't attracted to me," Chuck said. His face was impassive, his gaze still wandering along the streets and faces they passed.

"Oh, I wasn't pretending."

She smirked at the mirth reflected in his amber eyes.

"Oh? You weren't pretending? Then that means…_why, yes!_" he said, dramatically. "Yes! That means those flirty smiles you gave me (not to mention the bedroom eyes) were real? Sarah Walker, I had no idea you felt that way about me." He gasped, setting a hand to his heart theatrically.

"Really, Chuck? Right now? You're going to do this right now…" She rolled her eyes and strung her arm through his, leading him along the crosswalk and meeting the eyes of the people in each car they passed.

"Do what?"

She wasn't in the mood for his affected innocence, especially since they weren't exactly out of the woods yet, so to speak. "Chuck, shut up for a sec." She felt him stiffen beside her and didn't care much at the moment.

A man who resembled Sidewinder from the coffee shop was pulling something out of the trunk of a parked car. Grabbing Chuck by his hand, she tugged him into the cafe they were passing and led him through the cramped tables.

"How many—uh, excuse me? Ma'am? Sir?" The waitress was hot on their heels as they moved towards the back of the restaurant. "Can I help you?"

"Sorry!" Chuck called over his shoulder.

They burst into the kitchen and moved through the apron-wearing cooks preparing food. She nearly missed getting a hot skillet swinging into her arm, but Chuck yanked her against him at the last second, saving her from getting a nasty burn on her bicep.

"Hey! You can't be in here!" one of the cooks called, and he went completely ignored.

"Where's the back door?" Sarah barked. A teenager blinked at her under his hair net, his hands covered in soapy water, and then he found a knife pointed at him. She wondered if he wet himself, the way his face changed and his eyelids flickered. But within a moment, he was gesturing over his shoulder, his arm rigid.

Sarah ran towards the back and felt Chuck's absence immediately. When she spun, she saw the computer nerd picking up pieces of lunchmeat and rolling them in slices of white cheese.

"What the fuck, Chuck?!"

He made a high-pitched sound of urgency and raced after her, taking a giant bite out of his makeshift sandwich. "But this is real, Italian capicola!" he yelled, scampering along behind her.

Sarah spotted a door tucked behind stacked compost containers. As they maneuvered around the bins and containers, Chuck shoved the rest of the snack in his mouth and moved in front of Sarah to open the door. As he turned the handle and pushed, it budged a little but wouldn't open.

There was a crash somewhere in the kitchen and loud yelling.

"Shit! Chuck! Open the door!" she whispered savagely.

"It's jammed or something!" The words came out so quickly it was compressed into one word. "Wait, wait, wait. Hold on."

Sarah knew immediately what he was going to do and she inwardly winced. This was not going to go well. But she'd let him try it anyways.

He moved a few feet back, took a deep breath, and barreled towards the door, leaping into the air and crashing his shoulder into it. The door burst open and cold air and snow swept into the room. Chuck disappeared with a loud yell and Sarah heard a cacophonous crash that sounded painful.

"Chuck?!"

She ran to the door and peered through. He was sprawled at the bottom of an icy staircase, half his body draped over a tin trash can. Luckily the lid was still in place and there wasn't much trash inside. There was a frozen grimace on his face, his legs up in the air and his arms brought close to his chest…almost like a possum playing dead. Thankfully the bag slung over his shoulder was still in one piece.

"Get up, Chuck. Come on. Let's go."

"Yeah, no. I'm okay. The, uh, concrete broke my fall, so I'm good."

The smile on his face made her grin for a second and she swallowed a giggle. He was ridiculous.

"Get up!" She bent down and smacked his shoulder, reaching down to help him up.

They scampered down the alleyway and onto a small, less populated street. Sarah looked up and down the street and spotted the ladder of a fire escape hanging about twelve feet off the ground in the alleyway nearby. "There!" she pointed. "Come on."

He followed behind her dutifully as they walked across the street quickly, but not too quickly, so as to not alert the people around them that they were afraid for their lives. "So why are we running?" Chuck asked, slipping his hand into hers. It was a bad habit he had. He'd take her hand during missions every once in awhile, even when it wasn't necessary for cover, and it made her want to snap at him. Would he be grabbing her hand if she were a guy? No, of course not. They were _partners_. They weren't dating. Holding hands was…

She shook her head to dispel those thoughts. She needed to focus on the here and now. And at the moment, Chuck holding her hand was doing nothing more than keeping her hand warm, so she ignored the rest of the context and slid into the alleyway. "Gimme a boost."

"Aye, aye." He knelt down and folded his hands together over his knee. She put her boot on his hands and in a flash, she was hoisted high enough to grab the ladder, her weight helping to bring it down. It was a practiced art form of theirs. They'd ended up on too many roofs to count.

She rushed up the ladder and onto the fire escape, not needing to look over her shoulder to know Chuck was following, but doing it anyways.

When she crested the roof of the building, she turned to watch as Chuck appeared. He burped a little and made a face. "Capicola is amazing but not before lots of running. Just…fyi."

"Good to know, Chuck," she breathed, shaking her head and walking to the edge of the roof. "Did you pull the ladder back up?"

"Of course I did, Sarah. It's me."

She smirked over her shoulder and crawled to her belly, peering up over the wall of the roof at the street below. Sidewinder stood at the door they'd just burst out of. As a couple passed by, he quickly shoved his pistol into the back of his jeans' waistband and exchanged a pleasantry with them, waving a little.

_Bastard._

She rolled onto her back and leaned her head against the wall, sighing and motioning for Chuck to join her. He did so, rolling onto his back and peering to the side at her. "What's the plan, mi capitan?"

"Oh, so _now _I'm the captain? When we're in deadly situations, you're okay with me making all of the difficult decisions? When are you gonna start pulling your weight around here, huh?" she teased, trying to ease her own nerves.

"Is Sidewinder down there? Is that who you saw on the street before you pulled me into that cafe?"

She nodded, letting her eyes slip shut and folding her hands on her belly as she tried to formulate a plan. "My plan so far," she started, "is to stay here until he goes away."

"And if he doesn't go away?"

"Fuck if I know," she shrugged.

"Awesome." He rolled onto his belly so that he was half lying on top of her then stretched up to peek over the wall. Sarah opened her eyes and watched as his shirt rode up to reveal his muscled abdomen, the tan skin etched with a line of dark hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his red and green plaid boxers.

"Yep!" he whispered. She jolted, shutting her eyes again, tapping her fingers against each other. "Black Mamba and Coachwhip have joined in the hunt, but they are walking down the street."

"In which direction?"

"Northeast."

"Good."

"Why? What's that mean?" He eased himself back behind the wall and peered down at her.

She shrugged. "Not much."

Chuck snorted and crawled back away from the wall, leaning against a metal air vent and brushing as much snow away from the ground as he could. It wasn't working. And they were already both pretty soaked through from lying in the grimy snow to peer over the wall, so it didn't make much difference.

Sarah crawled to join him and shivered. "How far are we from the motel?"

"Uh. Two miles. At the most."

"Which direction?" she asked, rolling her head to the side to glance up at him.

"The opposite of Northeast." His grin turned cheeky and she matched it.

"Perfect."

When they finally clamored down the fire escape a half hour later, the streets were a bit more crowded. It was midday and there was a pleasant amount of snow on the ground, clumped around light posts and gathered on the sides of the street against the curb.

The schools were on winter break, which meant that even though it wasn't the weekend, kids skipped around in their wintery hats, the balls hanging from the earflaps bouncing merrily as they hurried along the sidewalk in front of their parents.

"I get the first shower," Sarah said, pulling her coat tighter around her damp body as they neared their hotel.

"That's not even fair."

"Um, I came up with the plan."

"What, lying in gross snow on top of a roof for a half hour? _Anybody _could have thought of that."

"Shut up!" She smacked him and pursed her lips to the side, looking away to try and veil her amusement.

They entered the small motel shoved between a grocery store and a laundromat and up the stairs to the third floor where their room was. The moment they piled in, Sarah went to the bathroom and turned on the tub, pulling the lever that triggered the shower head before walking back out into the main room.

Chuck had left the curtains closed and instead turned on the bedside lamps. He tugged his Converse from his feet and took his jacket off, hanging it in the closet as Sarah began doing the same. When Chuck pulled his sweater off, taking his t-shirt with it, she knew immediately what was about to happen.

"Chuck, you better not—!"

He laughed merrily and sprinted to the bathroom. She sprang after him but was too slow as the door slammed in her face. "You freaking ass hole!" Sarah laughed into the door, hitting her fist against it and jiggling the door handle with her other hand.

She could hear him laughing inside.

"Chuck Bartowski, I know how to unlock this damn door in two seconds flat. And I'm not promising I won't see something you don't want me to see if I d—"

The door opened and a wide-eyed, bemused Chuck appeared, still shirtless and a little damp, his hair extracurly from the melted snow. "You make a good point," he deadpanned, bowing and gracefully sweeping his arm for her to enter. "The shower is yours, spoiled brat."

"You must be feeling lucky, punk, calling a person who could kill you with her thumb and forefinger a spoiled brat."

"I coulda called you worse," he shrugged.

She narrowed her eyes and shoved him out of the bathroom, slamming the door in his face.

Sarah's shower took twenty minutes, and she spent most of it forcing herself to focus on the fact that she and Chuck were two million dollars richer. But for the first time ever, Sarah didn't feel the elation she usually felt. The adrenaline was dwindling under the hot jet of water, seeping down the drain along with the dirt and grime from the roof. One million dollars was plenty of money. But she realized something as she let the water run over her face.

She'd been in the con game professionally since she was a teenager. Back then, she pulled jobs to eat, to have a place to sleep, to replace the raggedy clothes or sneakers with split soles. But as she got better, as her father taught her more, and as she learned to take risks for a greater reward, her takes grew exponentially, the reward grew all the sweeter, and she would pull jobs that resulted in more money than she even knew what to do with. Her life began to revolve around the cons, and the money was just an added bonus. The adrenaline from the dangerous situations, being assured in her own intelligence and cunning, and everything else that came from the con game, kept her alive, kept her brimming with energy.

But then Chuck had literally climbed into her life, stumbled even, and things became skewed. She lived for the con, yes, but the money wasn't just hers anymore. The life wasn't just hers anymore. And for so many reasons, it was better this way.

What was she going to do with one million dollars? She had her equipment, she had enough money to stay in any and all of the swanky joints along the Mediterranean, in Monte Carlo, just about anywhere. But there was an itch she couldn't explain deep in her chest, where she couldn't reach. Perhaps an urge to stop bouncing around the globe.

Or maybe it was an urge to take the one million dollars and save it away somewhere, for later. But for what? Sarah lived day by day. It was the best lifestyle for her. The future, the long run, wasn't important. But there was a chance the con game would reach the level at which she'd no longer be able to keep up. She would need to _settle down._

It gave her anxiety to think about settling down. Not with a man per se, but just…settling. Living in one place, an apartment, with her own furniture, hanging her clothes in a closet. And then what if there was a man? That was even more frightening.

When she finally stepped out of the bathroom, a towel tucked around her athletic form as steam billowed out behind her, she noticed Chuck sitting at the desk, writing on a notepad. He turned and looked at her over his shoulder. His eyes slid quickly down her form, down her long legs, before he looked away quickly.

"You took a pretty long shower there. Fall asleep?" She could feel his grin more than see it as he hunched over the desk. "Ha. Ha. It's all yours."

He didn't answer and she became curious. Looking up from her duffel bag, she raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips. "What are you doing?"

"Hm?" He didn't look up. "Uh, making a list."

"A list?" She walked around the bed to stand over his shoulder, leaning down.

"Yep. What I wanna do with my half of the winnings." He beamed up at her.

"Oh, I'm eager to hear what this might be."

"Well, you're gonna have to continue being eager, I guess, 'cause I'm not telling you." He covered the notepad with his hand and sent her a shit-eating grin over his shoulder.

"You're keeping it from your partner? You better be joking, Chuck Bartowski." He merely pursed his lips in answer, so Sarah was forced to reach down and put her hands on top of his, leaning over him. "You better lift your hand up from that paper."

"Or what?"

"Seriously? It's just a list of things you're buying with the money. You always tell me what you're getting."

"I'm not telling you this time."

"Why not?" Sarah felt a bit hurt, and was annoyed because of it. What the hell was he hiding from her and why? If he was teasing, it was a stupid thing to tease about.

"It's a secret, Sarah. I'm sorry." He grinned again and she had half a mind to slap it off of his face.

"You're showing me." She tried to pry his fingers up and he yelped, reaching his other hand over and grabbing her wrist. "Chuck Bartowski, show me your damn list."

"I'm not showing you! NO!" He was laughing, and she couldn't help but love the sound of Chuck's laughter. It was the happiest sound she'd ever heard and every time it left her brimming. "Leave it!" He slapped her hand that was prying his fingers up gently, still laughing.

"Damn it, Chuck!" she laughed back, tugging harder on his hand and finally prying it up off the table.

Before she could see anything but the first letter of the first word in the list, he tore the paper off of the notepad and shoved it in his mouth.

"I wi' eat it 'e'ore I 'et 'ou 'ee it!" he said, muffled through the paper as he clamped his mouth shut. His eyes were absolutely sparkling as she stepped back and gasped.

"Did you just seriously fucking eat it?"

"I am swallowing it as we…" He swallowed. "Ahhh, speak." He opened his mouth and showed her that it was gone.

"You're disgusting!"

"_I'm _disgusting!"

"I'm glad we agree."

"You ate a freaking goose bladder once. That wasn't disgusting at all. But me shoving a piece of paper into my mouth and swallowing it. Oooh, that's so disgusting!" He laughed loudly and suddenly his grin dimmed a bit as his eyes darted down to the towel that still, but just _barely,_ clung to her body.

She tried to keep from blushing, but knew she was unsuccessful. "Take your damn shower, then, ass hole." She turned to walk back to her duffel to get her clean clothes out, but looked over her shoulder at him again. "Don't think I'm not upset with you, though, for keeping that list from me. I thought we said no secrets."

"This is an important secret," he answered quietly. It was the sincerity in his words that upset her the most. What was so important that he had to keep it from her, the most important person in his life?

She knew she was being a bit full of herself thinking that way, but it was true, wasn't it? Chuck was the most important person in _her_ life. He was her partner. And sometimes she thought of him as her friend. A confidant. Although she rarely confided in him. There was something too…intimate about it, at least to her.

Without answering, she pulled her clothes out of her bag and draped them on the bed. "You gonna shower or do I have to get dressed in front of you?" She lifted an eyebrow as he stumbled up from his chair, flashed a goofy smile, and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door.

Suddenly the door opened again and Chuck stood in the doorway, looking at her intensely, his brow furrowed and his mouth gaping a little.

"What? You gonna actually tell me y—"

Her snide remark was cut off when he crossed the room in three long strides, wrapped her in his arms, towel and all, and kissed her. All thoughts flew from her mind, and the only thing in the world she knew was that his lips were caressing hers tenderly, and his arms were strong around her body.

They both pulled away slowly and she glanced up at his face. His eyes were shut and his lips were still pursed. His fingers disentangled themselves from the damp towel still covering her figure.

When he opened his eyes, it was like a violent sandstorm was raging in them, and when he stepped back, the warmth of him left her immediately. "I—" His voice came out in a raspy breath.

He fled, disappearing into the bathroom and shutting the door quickly, leaving her standing alone in the main room. Then the knot in the towel just under her armpit loosened and the towel fell to the ground at her feet.

She would have laughed at the timing if she wasn't so completely confused by what had just happened. What _had _just happened?

Sarah gathered her wits enough to pull her clothes on, slipping into comfortable pajama pants and a t-shirt before sitting on the bed and staring blankly at the door Chuck had disappeared through.

The blank staring continued until Chuck reemerged ten minutes later. As soon as she saw him with the towel around his waist and his wet hair curling wildly on his head, she realized her lips had been tingling this whole time. She pursed them distractedly.

"I, uh…" Chuck stopped, his clothes bunched up in his hands. He quickly shoved them in his own duffel and grabbed his pajamas. "Just a second. I have…" He held up his finger and disappeared into the bathroom again.

Less than a minute later, he was back, shrugging a hoodie on and hurrying to the bed where she sat. She had to resist the temptation to cower back against the headboard as he neared.

"I wanted to…" He swallowed, cleared his throat, and swallowed again. With a long sigh, his shoulders slumped and he went to his duffel, tugging out a small wrapped package. When he came back, he sat beside her, stared at it for awhile in his lap, and offered it to her.

"What's this?" she asked, surprised by how strong her voice was.

"Merry Christmas."

Her eyes widened as she looked at it. She made no move to take it from him, instead folding her hands together in her lap. "Christmas?"

"Yeah. I mean, it's Christmas Eve. Did you forget?"

She swallowed thickly and turned her face away, suddenly assailed by an overwhelming barrage of memories, none of them pleasant.

She remembered that there had been colorful lights hung on nearly every roof, from every streetlight, in all of the shop windows downtown. There'd been wreaths everywhere, children stomping through snow on break from school. Of course it was Christmas. She knew it was Christmas. But she'd done a bang-up job ignoring it completely.

_Shit. It's Christmas._

For the first time since she could remember, she wasn't alone in a motel room hiding from the holidays, curled into a ball under her sheets, sometimes with earplugs in to block out the world. And she wouldn't reemerge until the day after, or even the day after that, when Christmas energy began to dwindle, the presents were unwrapped, the eggnog devoured, and the turkeys and hams inhaled.

Or whatever the hell regular people did to celebrate the accursed day.

The various state facilities Sarah had ended up at throughout the her childhood and teenage years would put up the crappy trees and hang a few popsicle stick ornaments up that the other children had made themselves. They'd all been so excited, filled with the Christmas spirit, appreciative when strangers donated unwrapped barbies, Polly Pockets, Tonka trucks and building blocks.

It was nice sometimes, sure. But she'd never gotten along with anyone. She never really wanted to. Her parents weren't lost. They'd known exactly where she was. At least her father had known. But he was too busy swindling sheiks. Her mother had disappeared when she was a toddler. She was alone when she didn't have to be. That was the worst part of the holidays. And that was why she never made friends with anyone else.

She had a parent; he just didn't care.

They'd forced her to join in on the schmaltzy carols, and she sang, she went through the motions of making everyone believe she gave a shit about the holiday activities, the chocolate covered pretzels and gingerbread houses. She even painted a nice tree once with a big, white-winged angel on the top once. But the more she included herself, the lonelier she became. Until finally, she broke out of there for the last time and went off on her own, using the skills she learned from her father when he would take her out of the facilities in the middle of the night and bring her along on his adventures for a few weeks before returning her again.

Sarah Walker learned fast; she always had. And at sixteen, living on her own was easy with the conning skills she'd picked up while on the road with her father. She never celebrated Christmas again.

So she spent the next ten or so years hiding from December, staying away from people and their 'Christmas spirit' or their 'holiday cheer', and it had suited her just fine. But now, here was Chuck, handing her a Christmas present.

It wasn't a Christmas present donated by some random person somewhere who felt bad that all children weren't as lucky as their own children; they thought they could make up for it by buying a five dollar toy and throwing it in a cardboard box.

This was something he'd picked out for her…_just for her._ Not because he felt bad for her, but because he wanted to. It was simple, and incredibly kind. And she despised herself for being a little angry with him.

"I can't."

His hand twitched a little. "Uh…what?"

"I'm sorry. I just…I don't do Christmas." She couldn't meet his gaze because she already knew what the confusion would look like. She could see in her mind's eye the way his brow was furrowed and his lips were working to try to find words.

"Wait. What do you mean you don't _do _Christmas?"

"I don't celebrate it."

"Oh. I just assumed. Are you Jewish? Muslim? Uhh…Buddhist?"

"None of the above." _Sweet stupid man. _"I'm, uh—It's not about my religion, Chuck. I just…I don't celebrate Christmas. It's pointless and, honestly, I think it's a whole lot of bull shit. It's like…a get off free card or something. Treat people with charity and kindness during Christmastime so that you can be an unbelievably selfish prick to people the rest of the year."

When she shrugged and looked up at him, he'd pulled the present back into his lap and narrowed his eyes at her in confusion and…Was that amusement? Did he think she was joking?

"I'm serious, Chuck. You didn't need to get me that because I don't…" She shrugged again.

"But I _do_ so why don't you meet me halfway? You don't have to get me anything. You can just accept this from me, open it, say thank you, and we move on." He paused. "You're good at moving on."

There wasn't anything scathing in the way he said it, but the words stung. She knew exactly what he was referring to. The fact that he'd just, minutes before, kissed her while she was wrapped in a towel. Not just kissed, but…_kissed. _Toe curling kissed. The kind that little girls dreamed their boyfriends might give them someday, only to find nothing ever met their expectations. Chuck's kiss met and exceeded all expectations. But it wasn't supposed to happen. What better way to deal with it than to ignore its existence, to pretend it never happened? That's what people did when mistakes were made, right? Forget it ever happened, but never repeat it again?

"Chuck, thank you. That's very nice. But…no."

"Open the damn thing before I become angry." He leaned close to her, giving her the famous Bartowski eyebrow dance. (It wasn't famous exactly, but she knew it well enough.) "And you won't like me when I'm angry," he finished in a deep, threatening voice.

She snorted a bit and shook her head. "Sorry, Chuck. I can kick your ass, anyways, so threats don't work. You already know this."

"I do. Come on, what's wrong with Christmas anyway? What'd Christmas ever do to you? Sarah Walker didn't get the pony she wanted when she was a kid? She got a stocking filled with coal from Santa Claus?" He grinned, his tongue poking through his teeth.

Sarah blanched, glaring at him, and his grin died quickly.

"Sarah, I'm s—"

"Just drop it, Chuck. I'm tired. I'm going to bed."

"You're already in bed, Sarah."

"Then I'm going to _sleep_!" she snapped, getting up and tugging the sheets violently down the bed, jumping under them and yanking them back over her body. She spun away from him and glowered at the wall. What business was it of his, anyways? So what if the fat jolly bastard _had _given her coal instead of a stupid pony?

"Sarah, come on. Please. I don't mean any harm. I'm just trying to give you a Christmas present. To say thank you. I didn't mean to assume anything or make you upset or bring up some deep-seated issues you have with Christmas." He paused, sighing heavily. "I don't pretend to know what you've been through, who ruined the holiday for you, or…I don't know."

She stayed silent, the glower dimming into despondence, then sadness, and finally resignation. Sarah rolled over and propped herself up on her elbow, looking at him steadily. She could tell she had hurt him and it bothered her more than she was willing to admit.

"You're right. I have deep-seated issues with Christmas and I took it out on you." She paused, jutting her bottom lip out a bit and catching his eye. "Sorry."

She reached out and nudged his shoulder a bit with her fist.

Her heart lifted when he smiled softly, still looking down at the package in his hands as he turned it over. He shrugged. "All good in the hood. Literally. Because I'm wearing a hood."

Sarah suddenly let out a laugh that lingered far longer than any she remembered in the past. He joined in and shook his head at himself. She loved the way he blushed in the yellow lamplight, flicking at the bow on the package.

She sobered after awhile, the silence in the room comfortable now. But then everything tended to be comfortable where Chuck was concerned. Except for the uncomfortable things. Like his hand-holding habit, or that kiss, or the way he made her want to protect him when the only thing she knew how to protect was herself.

"Give me the damn present, then."

_There it is._

Chuck was grinning like a fool, his nose crinkling and his eyes shining, and she felt her heart ignite. She twisted her mouth to the side again and looked down, focusing on readjusting her position in the bed as she sat up beside him cross-legged.

He thrust the gift out to her again and she took it this time, cradling it in her lap for a moment and letting her fingers run over the smooth paper. She smiled inwardly as she pictured him hurriedly wrapping the gift himself, tying the bow, thinking it looked 'janky', then trying it again.

"You gonna open it? I promise it isn't just a box wrapped in paper. I hate it when people do that box in a box in a box in a box thing. It's all fun and games until the whole party ends up being the guests watching some jack ass cackle like a hyena while an extremely disgruntled person continues to unwrap box after box after box. It's stupid and annoying."

Sarah stared at him with her eyebrows raised. "Are you done?"

"Yes."

"Okay." She giggled and ripped the paper off with a skillful swipe of her nails, revealing a plain, brown box about the size of an apple.

"Impressive, Walker. So I guess now I know what kind of present opener you are." He chuckled a bit but she could only stare at him blankly. "You know, because there are people like you who tear the paper off as fast as they can. Then there are people who meticulously peel the tape, and unwrap the present as carefully as possible to preserve the wrapping paper." He paused. "Have you never gotten a present from anyone, Sarah? Jesus."

Sarah ducked her head, trying not to become frustrated with the situation. Chuck had no idea where she was coming from and that wasn't his fault, nor was it even his problem.

"You really haven't, have you?"

"Nope. Not really." She met his eyes squarely, watching him for any sign of pity or sympathy. She was surprised to find there was none. Only intense curiosity and an interesting flicker of understanding.

"Well, there's always a first for everything," he said softly. "So open it already."

She smirked self-deprecatingly and opened the box. Inside was a small figurine of a beautiful, blonde ballerina. She was adorned in a flowing blue skirt and matching top, her toes were pointed, one balancing on the base and the other bent at the knee, forming a sideways triangle with her legs. Her arms both reached above her head, creating a graceful oval above her head. There was a white feather in her hair and her lips were bright red. Blue dots surrounded the black pupils of her eye.

"What do you think?" he asked timidly. "I know it's glass, so it might break easily. But I thought, you know, it's portable, right? You can stick it in your suitcase wrapped in a cleaning cloth or something and it'll never be broken that way." When she didn't answer, too focused on his words and the feel of the glass against the pads of her fingers, he began to ramble.

"It's just that there was that one time we were scoping the Musée d'Orsay in Paris and there was that painting of the ballerinas in the blue dresses. I noticed you couldn't stop looking at it. And I wasn't sure if you just thought it was pretty, or if you really like ballerinas, or if it was the color blue you liked, so when I saw this—a pretty ballerina with a blue dress—I thought it was perfect, you know?" He gestured to the ballerina's head with a gentle finger, stroking it over the hair. "And she kinda looks like you. Blonde hair, blue eyes. I can see you as a ballerina, actually. Like, one of those kick ass ones. I've seen you fight and it's like…dancing, almost. I guess. I look like the freaking scarecrow from Wizard of Oz when I fight."

She let out a watery laugh, trying to keep her tears at bay. Instead of crying, she shrugged and smiled up at him. "It's beautiful, Chuck. And incredibly thoughtful." How had he noticed her staring at the Degas? _Dance Class at the Opéra _was one of her favorites by him. And to have seen it up close, in person, was a wonder for her.

That was almost seven months ago, though, so how had he remembered after all this time?

"It was nothing," he shrugged. "You don't have to lug it around with you if you don't want to."

"No, I will. I will." The truth was blue was her favorite color. And in her wildest dreams as a little girl, when she was alone with her thoughts at night, eager to dream of lovely things for once, she'd wonder what it would be like if she were a ballerina. It was one of the only constants in her childhood.

And for Chuck to notice her fixation was a better gift than the tangible gift itself. So she leaned close to him and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Chuck. Thank you so much." She grinned up at him and reached over to set it on the nightstand beside her bed.

A comfortable silence elapsed as Sarah became lost in her thoughts again.

Christmas was so much easier to face alone, or not face it, as the case had been for her. Nobody was there to pull her out of the dark cocoon to face the carolers or children shoving their privileged lives down her throat. But now she wasn't alone. Christmas was in a few hours and she wouldn't be hiding under the covers of the bed, waiting until tomorrow to come out…unless she could persuade Chuck to do the same, and that was doubtful.

He was too cheerful not to enjoy Christmastime.

With Chuck here she'd have to face it head on.

"Hey." She looked up at him as he reached over and bumped her elbow with his fist. "You okay?"

She gave him a close-mouthed smile and ducked her head. "I'm fine."

Silence again.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Chuck bashfully rub his hands down his legs. "I haven't been…truthful with you. I've been hiding stuff. Important stuff."

The sound of his voice startled her. It was sullen, halting…and all too quiet…it didn't sound like Chuck's voice. She scooted a little closer to him, eyes wide. She wanted to reassure him. He had no idea how many things she was hiding from him. She felt like a hypocrite for it, but she was a little hurt that he'd hidden something from _her_. Chuck wasn't a secretive person. He was open, and…talky.

"I wasn't exactly making a list like I told you. I was writing a note. Uh, well not really. I was more like…getting my thoughts down on paper. I know what I'm doing with my million. I've always known what I would do with it. I'm just trying to figure out how I'll do it."

She struggled to find her voice. "What are you doing with it?" she asked softly.

"I've hidden an important part of my life from you. And it's not that I don't trust you. It's just that it's so important that I'm…afraid. I've tried so hard to keep her out of this part of my life."

_Her? Who her? _She was suddenly very nervous, terrified even.

"I thought I was keeping her safe by not telling you about her. Not that I think you'd ever hurt her. I know you wouldn't. I just…I wanted to be…sure."

There was the hurt again. She had no right to be hurt, really. Whoever this 'her' was, she was important enough for Chuck to want her to be safe. Going off and telling every person he met about 'her' wouldn't keep her safe. And Chuck had seen Sarah kill people, beat people with very little mercy, steal and lie, connive, manipulate. He'd seen some of the worst parts of her.

It was only natural for him to be afraid she might hurt someone important to him if their partnership was ever…severed. The ache in her chest grew as she realized Chuck must've thought of the possibility of their partnership splitting up. That was a painful thought. A very painful thought.

She would never _ever_ do anything to hurt Chuck. She couldn't now, no matter what happened. In less than a year, he'd crawled under her skin and there he remained, warm and…nice. Comfortable. _Safe_.

Sarah vowed quite suddenly that whoever this 'her' was would not only have Chuck's protection, but hers as well. She owed Chuck. And she wanted to show him that she respected their partnership.

Instead of saying that, she nodded. "Who is she?"

"My sister." Relief swept through her and she was annoyed by it. Who the hell cared if Chuck was married, or had some long lost girl he was in love with and wanted to protect? She didn't care. She shouldn't care.

But it didn't matter because it was his sister.

_He hid his sister from me?!_

"Ellie practically raised me when our parents left us. She's going to be a doctor, actually, which is…" A wistful smile played on his lips as he leaned back against the pillow. "She's gonna be a great doctor. Soon, I hope. And her husband—she's married—he's in med school, too. And he's a really great guy apparently, though I've only met him once. I don't, uh…" Chuck shrugged and the smile went away just as quickly as it had come. "Don't visit them much."

"You can't," Sarah said with a great amount of understanding, although she was stunned by the fact that he'd been hiding this important detail of his personal life from her for so long.

"Nope." He shrugged again. "But she understands. At least I think she does. She knows I'm alive, somewhere. I send her things once in awhile so that she knows I'm safe." He took a deep breath, his brow furrowed as he picked at a string hanging from the hem of his pajama pants. "You know, I feel terrible most days when I think of how I abandoned her, just like my parents did."

Sarah didn't exactly know how to answer him. She almost reached out to put her hand on his arm, but kept them resolutely folded in her lap.

"I send her things; money and birthday gifts. I sent her something for Christmas. And something for Devon. That's her husband. I call him Captain Awesome because he's…"

"Awesome?"

"Yeah." He grinned widely. "He looks like Captain America, minus the spandex suit and shield. Although, to be honest, I think he wears a lot of spandex. He works out a lot." Chuck shook his head and pursed his lips. "This time I feel like I have to do something really important…meaningful, you know?"

"Like what?"

"Ellie and Devon are looking for a house. Or at least, they were the last time I heard from them. Someday, they're gonna be amazing parents to an entire gaggle of freakin' healthy kids and I want them to have the right house. I can just see them walking into a place, you know, and falling in love with it, planning their future—Ellie's such a planner, too, always thinking about the future years and years in advance—and they're still paying for med school. What if they can't afford their dream house because of it?"

Everything clicked for Sarah and she was suddenly swept up in a wave of emotions that were unequivocally foreign to her. "Do you think she'd accept it?" she asked, having to clear her throat when she heard it break in the middle of her question.

Chuck didn't seem to notice, as lost in his own emotions as he was. He shook his head. "I don't know if she will. She's mad at me for getting involved in something so dangerous."

"She knows you're a conman? A criminal?" They both winced at her choice of words and she regretted them immediately when his face crumpled and he twisted his hands together.

"No. She—She thinks I'm with the government. Something top secret that keeps me traveling a lot. Something I'm not allowed to divulge to her, in case it puts her and Devon in danger." He took a shaky breath. "I hate the lies. But if she knew the truth, she'd hate me. And I couldn't live knowing Ellie hated me. She basically raised me, helped me get into college and everything."

Sarah bit her lip and watched him, a sudden question coming to her mind. She wondered how appropriate it was to ask him, but since he was already putting everything on the table…

"Chuck, are you helping her pay for med school? Is that why you're in the con game?"

He was silent. He didn't need to say anything, really.

"You got sucked in, though, didn't you?"

A shrug was the only answer she received. God, she'd never heard of a man who became a criminal for such an incredibly selfless reason. It was terrible, yet…incredibly moving. Sad, yet it left her with a kindled spark of hope in her chest.

"Does she know you are helping to put her through med school?"

"An anonymous donor. She wanted to be a doctor so badly that she decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. I wonder sometimes if she knows it's me. I wonder if it makes her bitter or disgusted with herself, you know? Accepting my donation even though she's angry with me for never being around when she needs me." The sadness in his eyes was incredibly painful for Sarah to see. It was almost more than she could handle, so she looked away.

"I would have given my left leg to have someone like you looking out for me." Sarah froze. Had that just come out of her mouth? Eyes wide, she looked away and meant to get up from the bed, go to the bathroom or straighten the clothes in her duffel or do anything but admit that what she just let slip was her being absolutely honest.

"Sarah, why _do _you hate Christmas so much?"

She was silent for nearly two minutes, but he never looked away, never repeated the question, never expressed any kind of impatience…He was purely Chuck. She felt the warmth of him even sitting two feet away.

"My mom left when I was a kid and my dad had his own lifestyle."

"You're dad's a conman, right?"

"Yeah. After my mom left us, he started going on more jobs, traveling a lot more, disappearing for days on end. The older I got, the worse he got at being there. A neighbor reported him and I was taken away while he was gone, put in a facility…I became a ward of the state." Sarah realized as she spoke that each word became more and more difficult to say, but she resigned herself to telling Chuck as much as possible. She owed him that much after he trusted her with Ellie. It meant more to her than she was willing to admit.

"My dad would pick me up here and there and we'd disappear for awhile together, pulling jobs on the road, swindling, conning, stealing…He taught me a lot of the things I know. But I ended up living in…I don't know, more facilities across California than I can remember. And Christmastime was so hokey and half-assed and just filled with…I don't know, I guess I was lonely. The other kids were nice and everything, but their parents had died or had given them away when they were first born. My dad hadn't done either of those things. I didn't realize it at the time, but now that I look back, I see it for what it really is, Chuck. I was a tool. He'd pick me up to pull his con jobs that required a little girl to melt the mark's heart. No one suspects a fellow who's just taking care of his cute little daughter, right?" She shook her head bitterly and covered her mouth with her fingers.

"I'm sorry. I get it, though. Even though there were people with you for Christmas, all the holiday spirit jargon and sappy carols and sentiments fell flat because you still felt totally alone." She felt Chuck's hand lightly stroke the back of hers and she tried not to flinch or pull away.

"Yep. After I got out of my last placement, I decided to ignore Christmas completely for the rest of my life. It isn't worth the hurt." She bit her lip to keep her eyes dry, but it wasn't helping much. Luckily only one single tear escaped, and it was on the cheek not facing Chuck.

"You can't run from Christmas, Walker. You can run from Valentine's Day. I did that a lot in my younger days, especially in high school. I just stayed away from anything heart-shaped and sappy love songs, and I cut class during fourth period when the candy grams were distributed."

That got a short chuckle out of her.

"But Christmas…You can't escape Christmas."

"I did for awhile there."

"Then I smacked you upside the head with it, didn't I?"

"Mm, appropriate imagery. I do feel a bit of a welt smarting right here," she teased, pointing to her left cheek where just a moment earlier a tear had left a trail.

Chuck grinned in response and sat up straight again. "I apologize."

"As you should."

He snorted and they were silent again for awhile. Sarah almost turned over to turn off her lamp when she noticed Chuck fidgeting a little. She watched him for a moment, and the kiss came back to her mind, unbidden. Forcibly shoving it back out of her mind, though still unable to fully rid herself of the memory of his lips moving against her, she instead bit her lip—a little harder than necessary.

"Chuck, I'm sure Ellie doesn't hate you."

He scoffed.

"I'm serious! I don't know her, but if she's anything like you, she's probably incapable of hating anyone. It's one of the most annoying things about you. If she raised you like you said, she still loves you. You're her brother, no matter what."

"I abandoned her."

"No, Chuck. You didn't. You're looking out for her, even though she might not be fully aware of it. You're taking care of her. Even though you can't always be there for her in person, you're there for her in nearly every other way…in every way that's important. I can't even imagine what it would be like to have someone care about me that much." She shook her head and stared at her hands folded in her lap. "You're a good brother. You're a good person."

"I'm a criminal, Sarah."

"Maybe, in the eyes of the law. Obviously, it's your choice…but if you _did _tell your sister the truth about what you do, she'd eventually understand. She wouldn't hate you."

"That's just it, Sarah. The con game isn't what I do anymore…" Chuck paused, turning to look straight into her eyes. She forced herself to meet his steady gaze with one of her own, wondering if she was doing and saying the right things. She wanted to help him. She just wasn't sure how.

"…It's who I am."

She raised her eyebrows and nodded. Sarah had never related to anything so powerfully. It felt amazing hearing him say it out loud.

Suddenly, they heard loud singing accompanied by a whining fiddle and a tambourine outside in the street. Sarah groaned and fell backwards, burying her face in her pillow as Chuck laughed. "See?" she heard him say. "I told you. You can't escape Christmas."

"Shh mpph," she said, muffled into the pillow.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't hear you. What was that?"

She lifted her head. "I said 'shut up'."

"Mm. Thank you, Scrooge."

She glared at him, even though her smile took some of the heat out of it.

As soon as the carolers' voices dwindled, their singing drifting further and further down the street before it disappeared, Sarah got out of the bed and padded over to the dresser upon which the television stood. She pulled the bottom drawer open and took out the messenger bag with their prize nestled inside.

Then she walked back to the bed and crawled onto the mattress, folding her legs under her body as she met Chuck's gaze.

She felt no reservations, and certainly no regret, when she set the bag on his lap. "Merry Christmas, Chuck," she quite nearly whispered.

His face wrinkled in confusion as he ran his hand over the material of the bag.

"That's two million dollars in there. Maybe it's not that much in the scheme of things, but…Well, it's more than one million." Sarah couldn't help but smile as understanding blossomed on his handsome face and the widest grin she'd ever seen on his face spread until she feared he might burst.

She watched as he opened his mouth to say something. But he closed it again, apparently feeling that words wouldn't do the moment justice. She was inclined to agree with him there. So instead she leaned forward and hugged him quickly, bashfully turning over to turn off her lamp and snuggling into the sheets, her back to him.

She listened for a few minutes as he set the bag on the carpet beside the bed and crawled under the covers, turning off the lamp on his side and settling with a heavy sigh.

After some time, she flipped onto her back and sighed, aware that she'd just wished someone a merry Christmas for the first time in almost ten years.

She jumped a little when his warm hand folded over hers where it laid on the mattress beside her body. He held it tightly, his fingers wrapping around hers. She moved her hand so that their fingers interweaved.

"Thank you, Sarah. You—" Another sigh. "Merry Christmas."

Tears dripped from her eyes as she turned her face away. She squeezed his hand as hard as she could.

"Merry Christmas, Chuck."

* * *

**A/N: **This has been another installment of the Con Game Universe, hereby known as the Chuck ConVerse. (See what I did there? I sincerely hope this becomes a thing.)

Please review if you read it. I only gave it a quick edit because Christmas has already passed and it's almost one in the morning and I really just want to post it. This was un-beta'd so any mistakes were my own. Be as brutal as you wish, dear readers. I do hope you enjoyed it, though, and if you did, let me know!

Thanks everyone!

And I hope you all had a lovely Christmas! And for those of you who celebrate other holidays, Happy Holidays! Or you, Sarah Walker, curled up in your bed with the sheets pulled over your head, hiding from the holidays altogether...good luck to you my friend and muse. I hope you find your Chuck-Cure soon. ;)

Until next we meet!


	3. Con Game Beginnings

**A/N: (sings) **It's the beginning. The beginning. It's the beginning of our story. (Props to anyone who gets the reference.)

So this really is the beginning. Pretty crazy, isn't it? The way I'm confusing the jell-O out of you guys with my jumping around. But eh.

AU, Con artist Chuck Bartowski is beaten to a con job. He doesn't appreciate the affront. Nor does his rival appreciate his attempts at taking the money back.

**Disclaimer: **This has not been beta'd. Just my own pretty brown eyes reading it over a few times. And if any of my tech stuff in this sounds like I made it up, that's probably because I made it up. Please bear with me on that front. I tried my darndest!

**Dumb disclaimer: **I don't own Chuck.

ENJOY!

* * *

He should have remembered what Dubai was like in December. Maybe he'd have chosen thinner clothes. Or worn boxers instead of briefs…you know, for cooling purposes. He couldn't stand the desert, even a desert this close to the gulf.

He readjusted the strap of his laptop carrying case over his shoulder, as though it would do anything to help his skin breathe in the near ninety degree heat. Maybe Chandrakant's massive office building would have air conditioning. One could only hope.

_I should have brought sunglasses_, he thought to himself, flapping the the lapel of his dark gray suit jacket, then pulling a bit at his tie so that his neck could reap the minuscule benefit of the wimpy breeze.

The only thing the breeze managed was to pick up a little dirt and insert it into the corner of Chuck Bartowski's eye. "Ow, son of a—Oh, pardon me, Sir."

_I hate the stupid desert._

Finally, he stood in front of the revolving doors of the multibillionaire's company. Vikram Chandrakant, owner of four of the most decadent, expensive, profitable hotels in Dubai, and a potential crime lord, though no one could peg him for it as he had his hand in nearly every sect of the city's tourist industry. Vikram Chandrakant, owner of roughly forty to forty five percent of Dubai. Maybe that was an exaggeration, but the guy was big.

And if this job went wrong—Well, Chuck would be a body bag filled with severed limbs and organs found floating in the Persian gulf—a snack for any zombie who happens to swim by it.

_Chuck, you're an idiot. Zombies can't swim._

Shaking his head at himself, he closed his eye and poked at the corner of his eyelid under which the speck of dirt lodged itself. It hurt like hell, and he really didn't feel like meeting Chandrakant, or his advisor as the case may be, blinking like a maniac. If that wasn't a tell in the con game…

"Pardon me," he asked the young man at the reception desk. "Is there a restroom on this floor?"

He followed the man's accented directions and headed for the restroom to wash his eye out.

As Chuck stared at himself in the mirror, he thought (not for the first time) of how he'd gotten here. Not Dubai exactly, but here, standing in this restroom in Vikram Chandrakant's building, preparing to sell him a software company that simply did not exist. His professor recruited him from Stanford, a few missteps on a con crew, and he was running—alone in the con game.

He collected himself by breathing deeply a few times. He had the con in the bag.

As Chuck walked back out of the bathroom and down the hallway, he smoothed down the front of his business suit and took another deep breath. He'd chosen an outfit that made him look like the typical Silicon Valley upstart rich kid whose brilliant software scheme after college took off and made him wealthy.

The suit wasn't Armani, but Men's Warehouse. It had a bit of a scuff on the elbow and his shirt collar was cocked a bit, as though he were too big for his britches. As he walked to the reception desk, Chuck worked a cocky little strut into his stride. He signed in with the receptionist then walked back to the seating area to wait. Chuck was so caught up in thinking about his plan that he nearly ran over a middle-aged woman walking purposefully through the lobby.

"Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am."

Her icy blue eyes barely registered him as she brushed him off and continued on, switching the briefcase in her hand and continuing on her way.

"Dang, lady. In a hurry much?" he breathed to himself and sat down.

Fifteen minutes later, his name was called and he found himself on an elevator surging towards the eighteenth floor. The elevator dinged and the doors swept open to reveal an incredibly severe office, with walls that were the whitest white possible, marble floors, and a stainless steel sign on the wall that read "Chandrakant, Inc" in bold letters.

It was nearly silent, except for the hushed voice of the receptionist speaking Arabic into her head-set. She held up a finger as he approached, a small distracted smile sent in his general area, then she concluded the phone call and pressed a small button on the headset.

"You are Harold Beckett?" she asked in perfect English.

"Harry," he corrected with a confident grin.

It was not returned. "Yes, Mr. Chandrakant has stepped out for a meeting, but his assistant Mr. Fakhoury will speak with you. If that is alright." It didn't seem to be a question. Either it was alright, or he could take his software company elsewhere.

"Quite alright," he chirped.

"Follow me."

She led him down the hallway and to a set of double doors with the name Rashid Fakhoury on the plaque beside the doorway. She swept the doors open and gestured for him to step inside.

"Uh, thank you. Thank you very much," he said.

Without answering, the woman left, shutting the doors behind her. Rashid Fakhoury was a short man with a definite receding hairline and eyes that darted around in his little head like nervous mice. "Mr. Beckett. I am Rashid Fakhoury. I am sorry that Mr. Chandrakant is not here. He was called away for important business."

"That's quite alright."

"Good." He made a vague gesture. "Now…your software. Be advised, Mr. Chandrakant doesn't usually like to invest in computer software. Technology advances far too quickly in this day and age. It's unpredictable. One day you have the best product on the market and the next day, you've lost a fortune because an upstart computer enthusiast has stolen your product and marketed it better." He lit a cigar and leaned back in his chair, eyeing Chuck with no small amount of ridicule. "What makes your product worth buying?"

"May I?" Chuck gestured to his laptop bag and Fakhoury outstretched a hand and waved it a bit. "Thank you." He pulled the laptop out and opened it, quickly connecting to the software website he created. It was foolproof. Every link went to a legitimate website that he'd covered with his own company's information. Every IP address on each product listed in the catalogue was a legitimate IP address. Every last thing had been taken care of. Chuck had spent two months on it, creating the basis for what might go down in history as the most elaborate con he had ever pulled, and on one of the most powerful men in the Arabian Peninsula.

Or this could all fail and he'd be killed.

With that thought in mind, he turned the laptop so that Rashid Fakhoury could see it. "The software costs the buyer a pretty penny, granted, but people seem to be willing to pay for it."

"You have buyers? People want this?"

"I do and they do. Only thing is, I haven't really got the head for running a business, you see. That's why I want to pull out and let someone handle it who won't run it into the ground." He snorted in a self-deprecating way. "It will certainly make Mr. Chandrakant a fortune, but it needs a bit of his fortune to really get off the ground. And his head for business."

"You graduated from Berkeley, Mr. Beckett?"

"Harry. And yeah, yeah I did. Me and a buddy of mine, George Monroe? You heard of him?"

"No. Can't say I have."

"He's got another software company. MonLab. Heard of it?"

"Can't say I have."

"Oh. Well, he and I came up with the prototype for BattleBoss when we were still in school. He had the business part of it down and I handled all of the tech stuff—the programming. Well, the idea took off, we got some funding, and sold some shares. And there it is in front of you. But George left the company about a year ago."

"Why's that?"

"He got married."

Fakhoury made a face.

"He moved to London. Didn't want the responsibility of BattleBoss while he was starting to get another software company off the ground. MonLab is huge in the UK. I'm surprised you haven't heard of it. It does a completely different thing from BattleB—"

"Mr. Beckett. You have yet to tell me why Chandrakant would want to buy BattleBoss from you when you seem so willing to get rid of it."

"Oh, I'm not willing. Not at all, Sir. I wish I could keep it going but I no longer have the means to do so. Without a business-minded partner I can trust, I'll run it right into the ground. I have a mind to retire. They say twenty nine is too early, but I don't think so. All I ask is that I get my name attached to the company, a small part of the profit, and Mr. Chandrakant gets the rest. If he'll buy it from me."

Fakhoury narrowed his eyes and flicked his cigar at the ashtray. "You want profit? How much?"

"Not much at all."

"How much, Mr. Beckett?"

"Five-hundred thousand a year."

The man's eyes narrowed further.

"Alright, one-hundred thousand a year."

"That's all you want out of this?"

"On top of what you'd be paying to buy it from me, yes."

"How much would that be?"

"Five million."

Fakhoury's eyebrows raised calmly and he sat forward, putting his cigar out in the tray and standing up. He walked to the window that overlooked the skyline of Dubai and turned back to Chuck. "You want my employer to buy BattleBoss from you for five million dollars. That's a lot of money, Mr. Beckett."

"Considering how much it will be worth in, say, five years under Chandrakant's ownership, five million is almost nothing."

"Is that so?"

"I can assure you that the number will quadruple by 2015. This is big stuff, Mr. Fakhoury, Sir. Very big stuff."

Fakhoury was silent. "You won't lower the number? Say…one million?"

"Afraid not. How's a fella supposed to retire off of that?"

He smirked a bit, pushing the computer a little closer to the assistant. "Please, take a look. Click around. It's a great company. We've got great employees." He then fished in his bag and tossed a folder onto the desk. "There are BattleBoss' records for the yearly sales from 2006 on. All certified and verified by the appropriate government body." His grin became a little cheeky. It was easy to draft up the documents and replicate the seal in the top corner. Forgery was one of his specialties. He liked to think that even a trained FBI expert would believe BattleBoss was a real company, selling real software to real customers.

The man picked up the folder and thumbed through the papers, raising his eyebrows as he read, nodding approval. Then he went to the computer and clicked around the page for less than a minute. "It does look like a secure investment, Mr. Beckett. And the company looks to be doing as well as can be expected, but I regret to inform you we cannot do business at this point in time."

Chuck almost dropped the act for a moment. Well, this was unexpected. "I'm sorry to hear that, Mr. Fakhoury. May I ask why?" He stood up and shut his laptop, shoving it back into his bag. He had to think fast. He had to change the pint-sized assistant's mind. "I've been informed by Mr. Chandrakant that there is to be no more business conducted today."

"Then I'll come back tomorrow!" Chuck answered, grinning easily as he took the folder back and shoved it in his bag.

"I'm afraid not. He has already spent five million dollars on shares in an American company today, and it's left him with a bit of a bad taste in his mouth. You see, he doesn't much like Americans."

Chuck frowned. "Shares? But, I don't understand. I'm offering him my entire company. For that same amount of money."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Beckett. Now, I'm a very busy man so if you wouldn't mind escorting yourself out Mr. Awad will take your badge at the desk downstairs in the lobby."

With a short reply of thanks and good luck, Chuck strode out of the office, a frown on his face. The doors shut, effectively locking Mr. Fakhoury back inside his office. The receptionist hadn't shown up to escort him out. He was completely alone.

Chuck pursed his lips and glanced one more time down the hallway, then inched along in the opposite direction towards Mr. Chandrakant's office.

Mostly out of curiosity, he wanted to know what this other investment Chandrakant made was. But he couldn't help feeling like something was fishy, here. Chuck's first impulse wasn't to distrust people and situations, but he had a prickly feeling at the back of his neck. And he couldn't force himself to leave the situation alone if he wanted to at this point.

He stopped at the door to Chandrakant's office and wondered belatedly if Fakhoury was lying and his boss was actually here the whole time. Of course, if they'd already meant to deny Chuck, why should Vikram bother meeting him? Just let the underling turn him down and he could smoke his cigar and count his money like the Scrooge McDuck he was. Taking a chance, he knocked softly. There was no answer. He wasn't entirely sure what he would've done if there'd been an answer.

He jiggled the handle to the door, finding it locked.

Within moments, he'd picked the lock and snuck in, shutting the door behind him.

He rushed to the desk and thumbed through the papers. He wasn't exactly sure what he was looking for, but he figured he would know it when he found—

"Heyo…what have we got here?" he mumbled, lifting a printed receipt from the other end of the desk. Chandrakant had wired five million dollars to a Taylor Franco's bank account. His eyes scanned over the business jargon and the numbers. O'Connell Insurance. Whatever insurance company it was, they'd managed to persuade Vikram Chandrakant to buy a share in some pricey stock.

Chuck shook his head and put the paper back. Taylor Franco. O'Connell Insurance.

He rushed out of the office and shut the door again, locking it from the outside and rushing down the hall again. "Have a nice day. Stay outta that heat, huh?" he quipped cheesily at the nonplussed receptionist as he went to the elevator and pressed the down button.

If he was right, O'Connell Insurance didn't exist. Nor did Taylor Franco.

Somebody had beat Chuck Bartowski to the con.

}o{

"Two can play at that game," Chuck muttered to himself as he strode into the revolving doors of the hotel. He was sweating a bit from all of the rushing around he'd done in the last twenty minutes since he left the Chandrakant building. _Fucking desert_, he angrily thought to himself again. _Fucking O'Connell. Fucking Taylor fucking Franco._

He'd never thought that many fucks in such a short amount of time, but then again, he'd never been beaten quite so hard as he was by whoever the bastard was that had conned Vikram Chandrakant before he could do it himself.

But Chuck wasn't particularly worried. It would be easy to find this guy, tranq him, take the money, and be on his way. No doubt _Taylor Franco_ had already gotten the money out of whatever bank the money had been transferred to. That was how it worked in foreign countries. Otherwise the money could be traced back to him and he'd be caught faster than you could say "Bunburying".

His conscience attempted to rear its head but he stuffed it down. Stealing from a con artist wasn't bad. It was a bit of a prick to his pride, granted, as he'd not been the one to successfully con the pants off of one of Dubai's wealthiest patrons…but he'd get over it on the plane ride to London. With five million dollars spilling out of his pockets.

Chuck had gone back to his hotel room and very quickly discovered O'Connell Insurance was nonexistent. A phony, half-assed website had been constructed on a hotel computer in Dubai as recently as the night before. To fool Chandrakant the conman must have made up for a terribly built website by being clinically talented at bullshitting. That left him feeling only slightly unsettled as to whether or not he could outsmart someone with the talent to pull that off. But he'd pushed it to the back of his mind and continued his work.

He traced the computer his rival used and hurried to the hotel where it was located, assuming Taylor Franco was staying there. Spotting the computer cubbies erected against the back wall for guest use, Chuck rushed over and plopped down in front of the one he'd traced the website to.

It only took Chuck a few minutes to hack himself onto the computer with his laptop. The night before, the guest in room 407 had used this computer, from 8:40 pm until 10:13 pm. _Novice apparently can't work a computer if he needed almost two hours to make such a shitty website._

Disconnecting his laptop from the hotel computer, he instead moved to a chair that was nearer the front desk. From there he was able to hack into the system and scroll through the electronic guest list.

"Hmm…Sam Dormer checked in at 3:15 pm on December 14, paid with credit card. Pfft, bet it's not _his _credit card," he mumbled to himself. "Room 407." Chuck grinned widely. "Got you, you son of a bitch."

}o{

The sun was barely below the Dubai horizon, but weariness had set into her bones, into her joints, into everywhere it seemed. She spent a few minutes waiting, peering out of her hotel window, walking across the room to the door and listening for footsteps, until she finally decided it was safe to change for bed.

Sarah stood at the mirror in the bathroom, peering at the old face staring back at her. "Not bad, Sarah," she breathed, though it turned into a yawn. She picked at the top of the mask and peeled it down, pinching the few last bits of it off of her youthful, beautiful face.

Tugging the severely styled gray wig from her head, she walked to the doorway and threw it haphazardly into the middle of the bedroom. _Damn stupid itchy wig._

Sarah rolled her shoulders and went back to the sink, scrubbing her face to rid herself of the remainder of the makeup that had taken her two and a half hours to apply this morning, including the mask that had made her look thirty years older.

She considered taking a shower, but she was so tired.

And so done with this mission.

It had been an easy take. She'd been quick, efficient, believable. A man like Chandrakant, whose confidence in his own power and influence was his biggest downfall, was an easy mark. But she'd realized quickly that her beauty and youth might be a hindrance in this particular case. Chandrakant wasn't looking for a young lover, or a wife. He wasn't looking for a trophy. Money was his object.

So she'd donned the persona of a well-established, successful businesswoman, good-looking but middle-aged, with a strength of presence that would make him believe her, and then forget her after she left. It had gone swimmingly.

With a satisfied smirk, she kicked off her heels and groaned at how nice it felt to wiggle her toes.

She'd gone to the bank and withdrawn the money as quickly as possible, stashing it in a briefcase and rushing back to her hotel room, checking for a tail the whole time. She hadn't been followed. The hotel owner wouldn't even realize he'd been duped for a few days. And by then, she'd be in Hawaii or some other tropical paradise. Thailand sounded nice.

Sarah eyed the suitcase on the bed and smiled.

Inside of the silver case was five million dollars in cash.

Feeling a jump in her energy, she decided to shower after all.

Sarah peeled her suit jacket from her shoulders and unbuttoned the white blouse beneath. Then she unzipped her pencil skirt and slid it down to her ankles.

There was a popping noise at the window. Sarah paused, feeling a chill running down her spine.

And then she heard the unmistakable sound of a pick turning the lock.

}o{

Chuck heard the satisfying click of the lock opening and pulled the window open, clinging tightly to the rope he'd used to lower himself down to room 407. At least, he hoped it was room 407.

He retrieved his tranq gun out from under his suit jacket where he'd tucked it in his pants at the small of his back, took a deep breath, then leapt into the room.

The first thing he thought was that he'd never seen eyes that shade of blue and he was transfixed by the way they were magnified by the moonlight streaming in the window. Then, of course, there were her long, _long_ and incredibly naked legs, the curves of her torso silhouetted by the moon, and—

In a flash, his right leg was suddenly connected to the window sill, a long, dangerous blade having pinned his pants to the wood. "Ah!" he squeaked, looking down, then up, then down again. "What d'you—?"

Another knife flew at him and pinioned his arm to the wall, causing him to drop his gun. Luckily the blade just missed his wrist and instead got his jacket.

_Jesus Christ! _He tugged his arm out of the trapped sleeve and spun, nearly missing getting a knife right in the center of his chest. The weapon instead disappeared out of the window.

Where was she keeping all those knives? It was like she was pulling them out of nowhere!

"Wait, wait, wait!" he tried, but had to tug out of his other sleeve and hit the ground to avoid the jacket she'd grabbed and thrown at him. He tried not to be distracted by the blur of her almost completely bare body rushing towards him as he blocked a quick punch to his shoulder and dodged backwards to avoid another one.

"I don't like fighting girls!" he rushed out.

She ignored him, letting out angry little growls with each punch and each attempt to kick him in the side of the head.

"Especially not girls who are—" He blocked a ferocious back hand and got another fist in his gut. "—naked," he rasped.

"Maybe you shouldn't have broken into my _bedroom_ while I was changing then," she said in a dangerous voice, pushing her blonde hair that'd escaped the messy bun out of her eyes. She attacked again, swinging her right arm around to connect with his throat, but his hand surged up to catch her by her wrist. In a desperate reflex move, he tugged on her hard, spinning her back into his front.

"I didn't know you were—Ah!" His hand had inadvertently closed over the warm, soft skin of her belly, so he leapt back and released her as though she were on fire. A foot collided with his temple and he hit the carpet face first. "Oowww…"

Suddenly she was straddling him with her weight on his thighs, pulling his arm painfully behind his back with one arm and pushing his face into the carpet with the other. "Who are you and what the fuck do you want?"

He couldn't remember the last time a woman had touched him like this. That's right…because a woman never had touched him like this. It was disturbing. To say the least.

"Uh…mmmff mf…" She let go of his head so that he could talk. "Thank you. See, I thought your room was on fire and—" Her hand smacked across the back of his head and his face bounced painfully into the ground again. "Ow! What—What is _wrong _with you?"

"_Me_?! What are you _doing _climbing into the window of my _bedroom_, you sick son of a bitch?"

"Now that's not sporting. I never knew my mother."

"Funny guy, huh?" She clambered off his back and stood, her hand fisting the collar of his shirt at the back of his neck and tugging him up so that he was still half-sprawled on the ground. The force was strong with this one.

There was suddenly a blade at his throat.

"Oh, not funny. Nope. Not a funny guy. I'm so unfunny. I'm Dane Cook unfunny," he rushed. This was getting so much more disturbing. "I'm completely at your mercy now, so why don't we just discuss things in a calm fashion…you know, without knives being pressed against each other's throats? Doesn't that sound nice?"

"I don't have a knife at my throat, do I?" she breathed into his ear, her breath fanning his curls there. He tried so hard not to be affected by that, but she was, simply put, the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on. And even if she were to bring that blade across his neck, he'd most likely die a happy man, just for having seen her. He wondered if she'd let him live if he said that aloud. The blade pressed tighter against his throat, drawing a little blood.

Nope. No, she wouldn't.

"Just—ack—just let me talk. Please? Pretty please?"

The knife swung away from his throat but she kept it in his vision. It was unnerving. "You pointed a gun at me. Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you."

"I'll give you a couple. I'm still a few years shy of thirty and they say now that your thirties are the best time in your life. Looking forward to that. I've never had shower sex, which—I know, TMI—I guess I just haven't found the right girl, but I'd like the experience some time." His face was pressed against the ground again and a knee pressed painfully into his kidney. "And that isn't a real gun. It's got tranquilizer darts, which means if I'd have shot you, you'd maybe be asleep for about six hours or so. Well…" He looked up at her best he could. "_…you_? Maybe four hours. Three. Or two."

She didn't say anything for a second. "You move, this knife will be embedded in your skull faster than you can bat an eye."

He wasn't a fan of that image.

"I won't move," he hurried out. "I won't."

She let him flop back to the ground and released his arm. He swept it around and sighed in relief, rolling onto his back and keeping his hands up so that she could see he wasn't reaching for any concealed weapons.

Chuck tried really, _really_ hard not to stare. But he had never seen a woman more beautiful than this freaking ninja woman. _This_ was Taylor Franco? Sam Dormer? It made sense. Those were unisex names. He'd just automatically assumed it was a man. Rather sexist of him, he mused. How did a woman this beautiful manage to dupe Vikram Chandrakant out of five million dollars? He felt like a misogynistic jerk for that last thought. Apparently she was more than capable.

She stooped down and picked up his gun. "Hm. What do ya know? It _is _a tranq gun. Why were you—Oh my God." Her eyes flashed up to him and she opened her mouth in amused shock. "You were gonna tranq me and take my money, weren't you?"

"What? No."

"Yes you were. You were going to climb in that window, shoot me with this, take my suitcase of money, and disappear! You let me do all the work. Then you were gonna knock me out with this and steal my money. That's pretty embarrassing. Considering you failed on top of it."

Even though her words were biting, he could see amusement dancing in her eyes. She laughed a little and a spike of anger went through him.

"You know what? No. This isn't fair. Because I've been working on a con for the last three months to get that five million and I go in there only to find out you got to him first. I worked hard too, you know." Chuck felt like an idiot for letting her get under his skin, but she was right, and he was embarrassed.

"Oh God, come on. This is ridiculous." She laughed. "Are you at least a little embarrassed? Especially since I caught you."

"A little."

She stopped and looked at him. Apparently that hadn't been the answer she'd expected. Chuck was fighting to keep his eyes on her face, although it wasn't as hard as all that, considering her face was definitely the most beguiling part of her. "Well, screw you. That money is mine. It was rightfully earned. _By me_. "

"Minus the rightfully part."

She glared down at him.

"What? It's true. You did kinda con it from one of the wealthiest men in the Arabian Peninsula."

She cocked her head and shook his tranq gun teasingly in the air in front of her. "I'm going to take that as a compliment."

Chuck couldn't help but smile a little. "I have an idea, and it's a good one, I promise. Why don't we split the take down the middle? Fifty-fifty. I get 2.5 and you get 2.5 and it'll be wonderful."

"Uh, no. I take five million. You thank whatever god you want that I let you walk out of here with all your limbs." She paused. "Say, there's an idea." Her knife was brandished close to his face again and he watched her, unblinkingly. "I could keep a limb for myself…you know, for all the trouble you caused me."

"Don't do that. I'll compromise. I get one million and you get four. Bam! Compromising. Contrary to what the United States Congress says, it's actually quite nice! What say you?" He spread his hands out and grinned widely up at her.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you did nothing to earn that one million. And I—Why am I even _discussing _this with you? You're a thief, and a bad one at that." She seemed to notice the way his eyes constantly drifted down, as hard as he was fighting it. So she leaned down and slapped him hard across the face. "There. That's for sneaking into my bedchambers when I wasn't wearing any fucking clothes."

He rubbed his cheek with a glower. That legitimately stung. "Geez, you've got a potty mouth. Wait…bedchambers?" he chuckled.

"Shut up!"

"And anyways, Miss Franco-Dormer, it's not like I came in knowing I'd find a beautiful, naked woman in here. Frankly, I didn't even think I'd find a woman."

She snorted and it was kind of cute. "Yeah, well…that much was obvious. I was able to throw three knives at you before you even remembered you were armed." The goddess stood to her full height again and went to the chair across the room, draping a flimsy white robe around her and tying it at her front. If anything, the way the moonlight shone through the nearly see-through fabric, highlighting her curves, and the way it cut off on her upper thigh, did nothing but have a stronger effect on him.

Clearing his throat, he rubbed his hands together, moving towards the window. "Well, I suppose I'll just go then. I don't even get a million?"

"Hold on there." Chuck grimaced. "Who are you?"

He turned to face her. She was pointing a gun at him, the flirtatious glint he may have imagined in her eye gone, replaced by an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. He wasn't sure if it was the good kind of shiver or the bad kind of shiver.

She cocked the gun.

_The bad kind. Oh, the bad kind._

"You're not letting me go, are you? You're gonna kill me."

"Should have thought about that before you tried to steal my take. _And_, by the way, I lost a knife out that window because of you."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. You know, you're right. I should have let it kill me."

"I asked you a question, damn it. Who are you?"

He paused. If he was going to die, he might as well do it on his own terms. And as silly as it was, he wanted to make her smile one time before he died so that he could say "I did that". God, she was so pretty.

"I am the terror the flaps in the night." Her brow furrowed and her lips parted. "I am the gnat that lands in your margarita then sinks to the bottom before you can get it out."

The room was silent as she stared at him. A grin widened his features, then died. "Wait, are you serious? Did you not have cartoons in the cave where you grew up?"

"What?" she snapped in what looked to be an immense amount of confusion.

"Darkwing Duck! You've never watched Darkwing Duck? How about this: Let's…get…_dangerous_," he growled, whipping his arm up to his face with an imaginary cape and raising an eyebrow at her.

"I think I should kill you to put you out of your misery." The words stung a little, but if he wasn't mistaken, the corner of her mouth twitched a bit. She then turned her face away, twisting her mouth to the side and purposefully not looking at him. Was she…trying not to laugh?

"The memory of me will stain your heart forever," he said dramatically. "I have that effect on people."

"What, a stain?"

He couldn't contain the short guffaw. "Touché."

She grinned and he felt his heart flutter in his chest. Her smile was quite possibly the most stunningly vibrant thing he'd ever seen in his life. And when it disappeared, it was as though the room was sucked of all of the light and happiness.

"You still haven't told me who you are."

"Does it really matter?"

"No. Not really. Suppose I just wanna know."

"Charles. Or, uh…my friends call me Chuck."

"You have friends?"

A slow smile grew on his face and he tucked his hands in his pockets. "Not many anymore. This business tends to have a rather alienating effect on people."

"Heh," she replied softly without smiling, her eyes drifting away for a moment. Then they hardened and she raised them back to his. He was struck again by their color and the way the moonlight reflected off of them.

"How'd you find me?" she asked, lowering her gun.

He pursed his lips and raised his hands, wiggling his fingers. "These." Then he pointed to his temple. "And this, I guess."

"Your fingers?" she deadpanned.

Chuck smirked. "I'm an expert computerer. A genius, really."

"A hacker?"

"Well, yeah. But—I mean, I guess you can call it that. When I went to visit our friend Vikram, I—" His eyes fastened on what looked like some sort of gray domestic animal, a cat or a gerbil, laying in the middle of her floor. He narrowed his eyes in confusion until he realized it wasn't an animal at all, but a wig. Then his eyes swept over the clothes splayed around the room and it all clicked.

}o{

Sarah watched as his face crumbled into a multitude of different emotions, his gaze sweeping around the room at the clues laying on her floor. She could see every thought in his head, the way he was slowly piecing it together as his brow furrowed, his lips pursed, and then his eyes widened and he looked steadily at her, his mouth agape.

"Holy shit, that was you!" He pointed almost comically.

"Now who has a potty mouth?"

"It was you. I bumped into you in the lobby, but you were…heh…much, _much_ older."

She smirked. She'd been wondering when he'd recognize her. She'd recognized him almost immediately, before she threw the third knife that was supposed to connect with his chest and instead rested somewhere on the ground outside.

Chuck's features melted a bit into a crooked smile, awe reflected in his brown eyes. "Jesus Christ, you _are _impressive."

Sarah Walker knew she was impressive. She'd been in the con game for too long _not_ to be impressive. But hearing it come from someone else, hearing it come from the inept, yet oddly confident, conman standing in front of her left her with a slight blush on her face. She hoped leaving the lights off proved to be fortuitous this time in that the shadows might hide the blush from him.

"Coming from you, that's not much of a compliment," she covered sarcastically. "All you've got to compare me to is yourself."

He wrinkled his nose at her in an unamused look and twisted his upper lip in a goofy impression of Billy Idol. "Well, yes. Thank you for that."

"Clearly my technological skills aren't so impressive that you couldn't track me. You still haven't answered my question. You're not very good at answering questions, are you?" she asked, propping her elbow in one hand and rubbing the barrel of her S&W along her chin distractedly.

"No. D-Do you think that's safe? With the gun cocked like th—" She glared and lowered the gun to point at him. "Right. Answer the question. Got it." He cleared his throat and folded his hands behind his back.

She had to fight the smile that threatened to crack again. _Seriously, what _is _this guy? _

What was more, Sarah couldn't figure out why she hadn't just killed him yet. He had an annoying way of blabbering on and on and on, almost like a nervous tick. She would prefer the tick.

And yet…

It was the strangest thing. She knewhe was a conman. He had to be. He'd found her _somehow_, and she'd gone through a decent amount of trouble covering her tracks. She'd used the lobby computer to create the website, just in case, and she'd made it to the best of her ability in case Chandrakant or Mr. Fakhoury decided to check on her company. She knew the tech stuff wasn't exactly her strong suit but she didn't think it would matter all that much. And distrust of other human beings flowed just as abundantly through her veins as her lifeblood did.

Creating the company was easy. Persuading two men who were trained to pick conmen out of a crowd of its existence was a little tougher. She thought she had succeeded. And she had, to a certain extent.

But she couldn't figure this guy out.

Maybe that was it. She hadn't killed him because he intrigued her. She was curious. He wasn't like the people in this line of work. It was a generalization, sure. Con artists weren't all like Angelina Jolie or Tom Cruise. But a lot of the men she'd met throughout the years thought they were Tom Cruise.

She eyed the man standing in front of her. His tall build wasn't exactly athletic. Well, he was a little. She thought he had nice shoulders.

If anything, he seemed kind of clumsy. If she'd been in his shoes, sneaking into someone's hotel window, she wouldn't have made a single sound. Yet, there he was clicking and clacking, then leaping into the room like it was some sort of surprise party. The only way it could have been worse was if he had yelled, "AHA!"

No, Chuck was not the Tom Cruise type. Nor was he…any _type_ really. He was different. So so so very strange. But the strangest thing was how solidly he looked her in the eye, even when she was pointing a gun straight at his face. There was fear there, nervousness, sweat dripping down his temple; he didn't fight to hide those emotions like others had who'd been at the end of her S&W's barrel. But he wasn't just looking at her; he was meeting her gaze.

And that weird Darkwing Duck crap he'd spewed at her. Even as a kid, she hadn't had the patience for cartoons. Squeaky voices and silly plots. A half-hour of her young life that she wouldn't get back.

"Fine, I'll tell you what I did" he breathed, interrupting her silent scrutiny of him.

Chuck shut his eyes tightly, then opened them again and sighed, his shoulders sagging. He rolled them back and forth, then walked a little closer to her. Her fingers tightened on her gun and her eyes narrowed.

"I broke into Chandrakant's office and found the receipt you made up for him. Five million dollars, eh?"

Sarah raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Seemed like a good, solid number."

"Mmhmm, it is." His grin lit up the room and it made her a little nervous. How did he get his nose to wrinkle like that? Was it unconscious? Did he know how it affected her? Was it all a ruse to get her to lower her guard? Was it working?

"See, I figured your, uh…O'Connell, was it?"

She nodded once, keeping the gun secure against her side in case she needed to use it quick.

"I figured it was a fake company, meaning Taylor Franco wasn't a real person, meaning good ol' Vikram lost himself five million dollars." He let out a soft laugh. "You got him with an insurance scam. Nice!" When her glare didn't go away, his smile died a little and he cleared his throat again. "So anyways, I—well, I'll spare you the gritty details, but I did a lot of snazzy computer hacking, tracked the computer you used to make the phony website, hacked that computer to find your room number, hacked into the hotel's electronic records, found out a certain Sam Dormer was staying in this room, and here I am."

"You did that with your laptop?" she asked. If what he was saying was true, he _was_ pretty brilliant. At the same time, she was embarrassed and more than a little disappointed in her own tech abilities. Perhaps doing it on her own had been a bad idea after all.

He gave a nonchalant little half-shrug and she narrowed her eyes, the beginnings of a smile on her lips. "That's pretty good."

He blushed and she saw it pretty clearly, even in the darkness of the room. Which meant he'd probably seen her blush earlier. She almost blushed again and felt a chill go through her. _What is happening to me?_

"I'm pretty good at what I do. Well…mostly." He tilted his head and gestured at the empty space between them. "_But_…to err is human…"

Sarah stared at him for a second and unconsciously tilted her head in a mockery of him. "You want me to say 'and to forgive is divine', but I'm not going to say it because I'm not going to forgive you."

"But you haven't killed me yet—"

"Yet."

"Well, since we've established that you _are _going to kill me, can I at least know your name? Not like I'll be telling anyone." He shrugged so nonchalantly that she wondered if he knew something she didn't. Like, for instance, that she wasn't going to kill him after all.

Sarah still hadn't really decided. And to be honest, this was the most conversation she'd had with anyone who wasn't a mark since she last saw her father, and she hadn't seen him in two years. It had been two years since she'd spoken to anyone without a mask, without playing a part. And somehow, this random guy, this guy who had every intention of knocking her out with a tranquilizer dart and stealing her five million dollars when he climbed into her window, had her talking. _She _was talking, not Taylor Franco or Sam Dormer, not Georgia Earnhart or any of the other aliases she'd taken on.

"I guess not, huh?" he asked, an understanding look dimming his eyes that had been so bright before while he teased her.

_Why does he even care?_

"Miss Franco-Dormer, like you said."

He snorted and it was sort of cute. "Okay, if that's your story…"

"You don't have to believe me."

"Good, because I don't."

"Good." She turned from him then and walked to her vanity. A small makeup kit lay near the mirror and she dug through it for her lipstick, setting her gun down where she could make an easy grab for it if she had to.

"Do you usually put makeup on when you're going to kill someone?" he asked. "Because that's a little weird. Full disclosure."

She smiled to herself, then schooled her features before she turned back to him. He hadn't moved even an inch, his eyes on her. She took a moment to apply the lipstick, aware of the awkward silence between them. She would use it to her advantage.

"Are you not gonna answer, then? Just let me talk to myself in my last moments? That's not cool." His voice was even, but she detected a hardly noticeable quiver. Chuck was afraid. He was afraid to die, and there was something comforting in it that she didn't quite understand. It was comforting, perhaps, that he valued his life.

Not that Sarah _didn't _value her own life. She did, certainly. But she felt a warmth when she heard that quiver. He was real, flesh and blood. She'd been starting to think she was dreaming. But then again—she wasn't sure her subconscious would even know how to construct a man like him. He _had _to be real. But that confused her all the more.

So she quieted her brain and turned to slip the lipstick back in the bag before grabbing her gun and walking across the room. She felt his eyes on her the whole way. "You're a rambler, aren't you? Talk a lot?"

"Not always."

She scoffed and turned to look at him again, fishing in her duffel for a moment. When she produced a silencer, the air in the room staled. "What do you mean by that?" She glanced over her shoulder at him, screwing the silencer on.

She had to decide what to do with him and it was a choice between two options.

The look on his face was stricken as he stared at her hands and the silenced pistol in them. "I—" His voice cracked. "I used to not talk at all."

Sarah stood still, watching him in the moonlight as it streamed in through the window. He was still as a statue but his amber-colored eyes shone like beacons. She looked away and realized her hands were shaking. She wanted to say, "I'd prefer that version" or something equally snotty, but she didn't have it in her. The truth was that she was oddly at ease when he spoke. She couldn't lie to him for some reason, so she kept quiet instead.

_What the fuck is wrong with me?_

Her hand flicked the pistol towards him and he jolted, swallowing thickly. "You really are going to kill me, aren't you?"

"Any last requests, Chuck?" She forced her voice to be chipper as she squeezed the gun so tightly she could feel the grooves of the grip dig into her palm. He was silent as she walked closer to him so that they were standing less than a foot away. He really was very tall. Without quite knowing why, she reached up to fix a curl that fell over his forehead. He didn't flinch like she'd expected him to. "Nothing?" Sarah asked, lowering her arm back to her side.

"Just one."

There was a mischievous glint in his eye and suddenly she had a flash of him producing a gun from some hidden place and shooting her in the gut. She braced herself for it, cursing inwardly.

But that didn't happen.

Instead he smiled a little and gave a little sheepish shrug.

"What?" She cursed herself again for being more than a little breathless.

The mischievousness left his features and he seemed a bit nervous. She frowned when she felt his hand close over hers where she gripped her gun.

How had he done that without her retaliating? She didn't know.

But she didn't feel any less safe than she had before his particularly gutsy move. The only discomfort she felt was from knowing she had a decision to make—and soon. But not _too_ _soon_, right?

She battled with herself silently, her face masked by the shadows.

His other hand reached out and his fingers curled around her wrist.

"A kiss."

"What?"

"That's my last request."

Her mouth twitched for a moment, and then a full grin swept onto her features. She couldn't suppress it. She couldn't hold it in. She didn't want to. It wasn't a decision anymore. He'd solved all of her problems.

And what a solution.

She pulled her hands away from him, taking a step back and getting one long, steady look at him. He seemed a little dejected by this and she almost wanted to laugh.

Then she stepped up to him again and put her left hand against his cheek, wrapping her other arm around his neck and propping her elbow on his shoulder.

Sarah kissed Chuck softly, losing herself in the feel of his arms wrapping around her. As he opened his mouth to hers, she shivered and responded in kind.

She'd made the right decision, she thought, as she distantly felt the weight of the pistol in her hand.

}o{

A loud banging noise woke Chuck suddenly. He popped up from where he lay on the ground, blinking groggily and looking around the dark room for any hint as to where in the hell he could be. The banging happened again and he spun to look at the door where it was coming from.

"Mm'coming…" he mumbled, getting onto his hands and knees and slowly crawling his way towards the door.

He bumped his head on something wooden along the way…a bed post, was it?

_Where am I?_

The banging stopped suddenly as he heard another door out in the hallway open and muffled voices drifted in. _Oh._

Realizing it wasn't his door that had been the source of the incessant knocking, he flopped back down onto his face. Something crinkled under his chest and his eyes snapped open again. "Mm'what?" he deadpanned, slowly pushing himself to sit again and haphazardly smacking at his chest to grab whatever was attached to him.

_Why do I feel so hungover?_

He couldn't remember drinking. All he remembered was…her.

As he reached full consciousness, Chuck felt a slow grin stretch one corner of his mouth. He was in Miss Franco-Dormer's hotel room.

Now, whoever the hell she was _really_, Chuck Bartowski was damn sure not a girl existed in the entire world like her. Her sassy smirk was something else. And her blue eyes flashing dangerously when she was going to kill him. And the way her perfect blonde hair fell over her neck when she stood still and swished around her flawless face when they'd been sparring. Well, sparring was putting it lightly, since technically she was trying to kill him.

Had she…Had she kissed him? Chuck inadvertently put his fingers to his lips and blinked. Was he dead? It had been his last request. She'd put a bullet in his brain, right?

_What a way to go_, he thought to himself with a cheesy grin. But…he didn't go, did he? No, he was alive. She'd kissed him and he was alive. She'd kissed him. _She'd kissed him._

Her lips were incomparably soft and warm. The kiss had left his own lips tingling, his head buzzing. He'd felt a little numb, even. And the way her hand had felt, so gentle against his cheek.

Chuck looked down at the crumpled paper in his own hand and frowned, turning it over to see words scrawled on it. He felt in his back pocket for the small keychain-sized flashlight he usually kept there and twisted the cap, illuminating his own lap.

Muttering to himself, he set the beam of light to the paper and read the elegant handwriting:

**_Chuck._**

**_Congratulations on not being dead._**

**_It's been fun. _**

**_Check your underwear._**

**_…For making me laugh._**

His underwear?!

Chuck scrambled to his feet and swayed a little, his head still buzzing as he shoved his hands down his pants and into the waistband of his briefs. His fingers closed over another piece of paper and he tugged it out. It was a folded five dollar bill.

"Ha," he deadpanned. "She's sexy _and_ a comedian. Great."

Shoving it into his pocket, he rolled his eyes, trying not to think about the fact that a beautiful woman had stuck her hand down his underwear and he'd been unconscious the whole time. That was too depressing to fathom.

What exactly had happened, anyways—

Realization hit him like a frying pan to the face.

"Aww nooo…." He groaned loudly and turned to flop onto the bed, burying his face in her pillow.

The kiss.

She'd somehow laced her lips with poisonous lipstick or something while he wasn't looking.

No, strike that. He _had_ been looking! He'd looked right at her! She'd walked to her vanity and put it on her lips, then sauntered back to him all seductively while screwing—poor choice of words—twisting—a little better—the silencer onto the muzzle. "Nooooo!" he groaned again, muffled against the down feather pillow. He flipped onto his back. "Chuck, you've _seen _Firefly! You've seen it! You _idiot_!" he said aloud to no one in particular. "God _damn _it!"

He could still hear himself request a kiss from her. And the way her smile had made him feel like he was floating. _You dumb ass._

There was a loud thumping on what sounded like a door down the hall. "Open up! Police!" a deep voice barked.

He knew instinctively that they'd gotten the wrong room.

"Shit, shit, shit!" he muttered under his breath, leaping from the bed and wobbling a bit from the aftereffects of the drug she'd administered in the cruelest way possible.

Bracing himself, Chuck Bartowski hurried to the window and pulled it open. Well, at least his rope was still there. She hadn't completely screwed him over. There was no way she could have missed the rope dangling in front of her window. And it would have been easy to just cut it. Then he'd be stuck, for the most part.

But she'd left it.

This more than anything made Chuck grin, even when he knew the police would burst into the correct room in a matter of moments.

He shrugged his torn suit jacket on and crawled out of the window. He easily scaled the wall, gathering the rope behind him as he climbed. The multitudes of names she'd used sailed through his mind and he vowed he would find her again.

He had a beef to pick with his mystery conwoman.

She owed him way more than five bucks…

* * *

**A/N: ****(sings) **It's the ending. The ending. It's the ending of our story.

Thanks to everyone I asked about certain pieces of this story I was concerned about. You're all wonderful and gems and I love you. Thank you thank you! And thank you to everyone who has stuck with me and read all of my stories and reviewed them and been so supportive and excited about the work I put out! I love everybody!

Stick around. There's plenty more to come in the ConVerse!

Ta, my lovelies!


	4. Con Game Gamblers, Part 1

**A/N: **Well hi howdy and hello, my friends. Welcome to another installment of _Chuck Versus the Con Game_ (known in some circles as the ConVerse).

It's business time.

It's four months after the Dubai episode in which Chuck and Sarah had their first tumultuous and interesting meeting. Chuck has concocted a beautiful little con involving card tricks and a few colorful characters you all might recognize. Against his better judgment, he approaches one of the best con artists in the business to work with him. Will she shoot him? Well, you'll see.

This is literally Chuck and Sarah's second meeting, as requested by many of you lovely reviewers. AND there are three parts to it. So look out for those.

**Disclaimer: **I've only played Blackjack at a Vegas casino once, promptly lost, and drowned my sorrows in the free drinks the waitresses bring around. If I've fudged something up, it is my own fault for only seeing that movie _21 _once. Didn't really feel like watching it again, not even for research purposes.

**Disclaimer that I'm forced to put in here: **I don't own Chuck. Much's the pity.

ENJOY!

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**CON GAME GAMBLERS, Part 1**

Her mark was slouched over the bar, his glossy eyes staring at the straight scotch swirling in the glass in his hand. He'd obviously had a hard night. Maybe he lost a mistress, or he'd been forced to get rid of one of his hundreds of employees he never bothered to call by their proper names.

She inwardly scoffed and moved closer to the man.

Leaning over the bar, she caught the attention of the bartender. She asked for a whiskey sour and felt the wealthy sap's eyes run down her tall, athletic form. When the woman came back with her drink, she thanked her and paid.

It was a little surprising her mark hadn't offered to buy it for her, instead choosing to stare at her, but she brushed it off and walked to a nearby table, sitting completely alone and swirling her drink in her hand. She hated whiskey sours.

She hated bars.

And she hated that she'd been unable to get what happened four months ago out of her head. It was in her nature to feel guilty about things she'd had to do to survive. Even the smallest things like stealing from the Salvation Army at Christmastime with her dad when she was a child. That, of course, had never stopped her from doing what she had to do, and it hadn't stopped her from taking the jobs she had no choice but to take.

She had more control now that she'd established herself as a legitimate con artist. She rarely played the hired killer, but she knew how to kill when she had to.

Four months ago, when Chuck the amateur hacker stood in her hotel room looking rather bravely down the barrel of her gun, there had been no reason to kill. But she'd threatened all the same. It stuck with her, like many parts of her job had.

But never had anything stuck with her for this long. _Four months._

Had her need to protect herself really reached that level of absurdity? She felt disgusted with herself, and then she felt annoyed that even after this long, she still felt just as guilty as she had a few hours after she'd left Dubai. Her first meal in Athens the next day hadn't stayed down.

And it terrified her that her actions towards him had created in her such a strong physical reaction.

His stricken face when he saw her twisting that silencer onto the end of her gun. Why hadn't she stopped then? What the hell was wrong with her? He'd confused her and all but charmed her, even after she'd caught him trying to steal from her. But he'd only had a tranq gun on him. And when she was at her worst, he'd had absolutely nothing. No weapons. Nothing to defend himself with but his own natural, odd charm.

But it was over. It had happened and it was over. And she hadn't forgotten.

Even when she'd made him think she was going to kill him, he just stood there staring. Like he knew something she didn't. It was unnerving. And frustrating. And she couldn't stop thinking about it.

She'd reviewed their meeting over and over in her mind, and she was almost convinced Chuck had more control in the situation than she'd realized at the time. She wouldn't have killed him, and somehow he knew that. He knew it when he hadn't even known her more than a few minutes.

It made her curious, and she'd been _so_ curious that she became angry. Angry that she couldn't let go. Angry that she couldn't forgive herself. Angry that she couldn't figure this guy out. And angry that she wanted to figure him out in the first place.

Her mark shifted on his stool and she considered, only for a moment, just leaving. She wasn't in the right place for this, mentally. But she'd planned for weeks, and she was here now. So she stayed put and rubbed her fingers over the barrel of her S&W under her coat. It was oddly reassuring having it there. It was the one thing she understood. She knew all of its parts, what it was capable of, and she knew she had complete control over it.

Unlike the rest of her life.

That thought made her roll her eyes at herself and she took a long gulp of her drink, fighting down the urge to choke.

Sarah had been off her game since Dubai. Not completely, of course. She'd pulled some successful cons, but nothing more than quick swipes with little to no planning. It was all she was sure she could pull off when she was so distracted.

Because it was easier to be angry than confused, she fumed at her table. She knew she was unbalanced. But who the hell in this business wasn't? Chuck? Chuck was definitely unbalanced.

Or was he?

That was the _really_ frustrating part. He'd been perfectly balanced.

The way he'd stood unflinching in front of her, quite possibly reading her as easily as one reads a magazine. And all the while, she'd been violently acting the part of a cold-hearted killer, thinking she had him under her control.

But it hadn't been control.

And she felt disgusted and played and...unbalanced.

She glanced again at her mark and almost got up to make her move, when suddenly someone swooped into the seat across from her.

She recognized him immediately and her voice caught painfully in her throat. Frustration and the fear that she'd be caught play-acting again swam to the surface and she subconsciously gripped at her gun in her coat.

The worst part was the relief flooding through her. Part of her had wondered if he'd been nabbed by the authorities. She'd knocked him out for at least three to four hours, she assumed. And while she'd left him an escape, and a cruel, debasing and unfunny message (she had to add begrudgingly), there'd been a chance he hadn't made it.

She fought the relief from her features, annoyed that he seemed to see it before she could hide it. Could she hide nothing from him? Anger was easier and she clutched at it like a security blanket when he smiled.

"I know what you're thinking," he said, not even trying to hide his pleasure. "However did he find me?" He lifted the computer bag from where it was slung diagonally across his body and let it down again with a wink.

"Get the hell out of here. I'm in the middle of something."

"I know that."

He knew everything, didn't he? She swallowed the guilt and disgust as she remembered how she'd twisted the silencer onto the end of her pistol. She hated what seeing him again was doing to her insides.

"Then leave me alone."

"Oh come on. The poor sap isn't worth more than two hundred grand to you."

She raised an eyebrow. "And that's two hundred grand that I didn't have before."

"Touché." He pursed his lips and pointed to her glass. "What are you having?"

"Whiskey sour." _Or don't you know that, too, just by looking at it?_ she thought to herself in absurd frustration.

"Wow. Didn't take you for a whisk—"

"Enough with the small talk bullshit. Get out of here." She wasn't dealing with the situation well, and she knew it. The word unbalanced danced tauntingly in her mind again and she almost growled at it.

He just stared at her for a moment, narrowing his eyes before leaning a little closer. "Fine." She nearly sighed in relief. He fell back against the chair again. "I'm an idiot for thinking you'd ever be interested in a difficult job with a solid crew. And it's a pretty fantastic take. Oh, much is the pity." He made to stand up.

"Damn it, wait a second!" she hissed. Why wasn't he acting more perturbed by the fact that he was looking his tormentor in the face again? He was insane, maybe? The thought that he'd had more control over the situation four months ago than she had, even when she was the one with the gun, reared its head again. She glowered as she realized he was winning again.

He smiled and fell back to his seat.

"How much does it pay?" was all she could make herself ask. Even when she wanted to ask _Are you mad?!_

"It'll depend."

The vague idiot.

"Fine. Then what's the job?"

He shrugged. "Sorry. It's yay or nay. You tell me you're in, we shake on it, and we get the hell outta here."

She cocked her gun under the table and saw him smile widely. That wasn't exactly the look she'd been expecting. "You're gonna tell me or I'll shoot this gun that's pointed at you under the table." She held it tightly in her hand, knowing this was just the same as before. Taunting him with threats on his life when she had no intention of killing him. And he knew it. His face held none of the uncertainty that it had in the dark hotel room four months before.

"It just so happens I've got a gun pointed at you under the table, as well."

She snorted. "Yeah, a tranq gun."

"Actually, not this time."

She stared at him for a moment, her back rigid. A thousand things happened at once, not the least of which was the fear that he'd played her even more than she'd thought. He was the dangerous one. She'd underestimated him, assumed he was a novice. He'd played the cartoon-loving, amateurish nerd. And now he held a gun to her under the table. A real gun. She'd walked straight into this.

"Nah, it's a tranq gun." His tongue poked out of the cheeky grin. "Gotcha, though."

She bit back a growl and shut her eyes to control herself. And just as suddenly, she felt laughter bubble up from inside of her. She turned it into a cough and opened her eyes to peer at him, putting a hard look on her face just as quickly.

"Will you leave me the hell alone, already? I'm not in the mood for games." She leaned forward and spoke through clenched teeth. "I _will_ shoot you this time."

"No, you won't."

"Pretty confident for having an S&W pointed at your balls." She smirked when he swallowed loudly but he kept the placid look on his face, to his credit.

"You really are somethin' else." He shook his head a little. "Still doing this, huh?" His eyes were suddenly serious and full of something she ignored vehemently, and avoided like the plague.

"Doing what?" she snapped, even though he knew she was fully aware of his meaning.

"Also, you're extremely impressive," he quickly continued. "I have to tell you, it took a lot of work to find you again. You're like a ninja."

"Thank you. But I'm assuming you're aware compliments won't get you anywhere. And at this moment, I have a mark waiting for me. So if you'll excuse me." He didn't move. "That means leave."

"I'm well aware of what that means," he teased in a low voice, leaning back into his chair. "I'm also aware that if you shoot me—and you won't—you not only lose the opportunity to work _my _job—and I gotta say, it's a great job with plenty of hijinks and adventure and it'll be fun, I promise—you'll also lose your mark over there." He glanced at her potential mark. "Poor sap won't want to go anywhere near a woman who just shot a man in the gut."

"My gun isn't pointed at your gut, ass hole."

He laughed out loud, his eyes sparkling in absolute glee. "God, you're crazy. You know that?"

His words struck too close to home, and she felt anger seeping through her. She was crazy. She was unbalanced. And screw him for not seeing it, for willfully seeing something else that she was sure didn't exist. Screw him for not running the hell away. "Tell me the job."

"Alright, fine. You got me." He leaned forward. "Miss Franco-Dormer, how would you like to be a member of a con in which you'll pilfer and filch the Dickens out of a couple of sappish blokes with too much money on their hands?"

She quirked an eyebrow. "What are we talking here?"

"Set up a gambling house, run it for one night, cheat the bastards out of a grip load of money, make them feel like they had a nice time…They leave, we close up shop, we split the winnings, and we never see each other again." He shrugged.

"A gambling house, huh? And how is this supposed to work?"

"I haven't ironed out the kinks yet, but it's a sure thing. Card tricks and the like."

"How many are in on this, then?" She pulled the gun and made a show of it to make sure he did the same. She watched as he pulled his arm back and holstered his tranq.

"I haven't gotten everyone I need yet. Actually, you're the first person I've approached." He looked a bit sheepish, making him look like a little boy rather than the full grown man he was.

"Why me?" She quirked her eyebrow.

"You're impressive. And I feel like I can trust you."

She laughed. "That's definitely a mistake."

"Maybe. You've almost killed me enough times." The way he said it made the guilt and anger abate. She didn't know how to handle him, and she knew if she took this job, it wouldn't get any easier. And for some reason she was okay with it.

"Hm…all in one night, too." She smirked a little playfully and he grinned. She hadn't forgotten Chuck's grin. It was four months ago when she'd last seen him. In fact, she hadn't thought she'd ever see him again. But she remembered the way his nose wrinkled…

He was mildly attractive when he grinned like that.

Just mildly.

"The fellas I have in mind will make seven of us. The hit should be around ten to twelve million."

Sarah sat forward in her seat, her mark and the contradicting emotions she'd been having about her frustrating companion all but forgotten. "So that's…almost two million per person."

"Bit more than that, yep."

Sarah stared at him for a few minutes and he stared back with no small amount of confidence. "If I sign on, what are we talking? What will I be doing?"

"I'm not sure."

"Then what do you want me for?"

"Uh…" His confidence dwindled a bit as his shoulders sagged and an unsure frown settled on his face. "Okay, honestly…" He took a deep breath and he was suddenly the same guy who had quoted Darkwing Duck within five minutes of meeting her under dangerous circumstances. "You're like that person in high school who everybody secretly hates because you're perfect at everything, you know?" She just gave him a blank stare. "You don't know. Okay. I'll try again. You're that person who's best all around. The star…_whatever_ player on the whatever team. The lead actress in all the plays. Honor roll. Student body president. I'm not making my point here. I need you on this team because I don't want to blow this job."

"Still not following."

"I don't see this going south if you're on the team."

"Now I'm following." She leaned forward. "You need me because I'm good at this whole con artist thing and you're not."

"Wow. Great. That's great. You're so good at this making-me-feel-bad-about-myself thing. Congrats." In spite of everything, he was grinning again. "Will you join Team Chuck in the con of a lifetime?"

"Mmm…" She twisted her mouth to the side and crossed her arms, looking over at her mark as he put the money on the bar and began clamoring sloppily to his feet, almost tipping the stool over.

"Come ooon. It'll be like Ocean's Eleven, except with a lot less money. And no Brad Pitt. Or George Clooney." He paused. "Or Matt Damon. And more danger because this isn't a movie. Besides that, it'll be like Ocean's Eleven."

Sarah fought a smile by drinking the whiskey sour she hated. Why hadn't she just gotten a beer? She liked beer.

"I have conditions," she said.

"I'm listening." The hope in his face was a little unsettling, so she looked at her mark's departing figure. If she was going to make her move, it had to be now or never.

"First of all, my name isn't Franco or Dormer. So stop calling me that."

"Done. What's your name, then?" She glared. "What's the second condition?" he rushed.

"Never call it Team Chuck. This is not Team Chuck. And don't pull some Ocean's Eleven type name out of your ass either, because I'm pretty sure no self-respecting con artist will ever agree to it."

"Mmm, fine. That's a harder one. But okay." He grinned yet again and she looked away from it, swiping her finger along the condensation on her glass idly.

"Walker."

"What?"

"That's what you'll call me."

"Wa—Walker? Like Skywalker?" His face lit up and she felt its warmth from across the table. "That's awe—"

"_Do not_ call me Skywalker. Ever. I will shoot you."

"You're _way_ too comfortable throwing that phrase around. Death is a very serious thing."

"Look on the bright side, Chuck. It won't be all that serious for you if you're dead." She pursed her lips and arched an eyebrow.

Chuck cleared his throat. "Right. Skywalker is not a part of my vocabulary for as long as this con lasts. Just Walker. Any first name?"

"Walker."

"Walker Walker?"

"Shut up."

"So Walker. Like Madonna? Or Cher?"

"Stop."

He sniggered as she picked up her handbag and stood from the table. Her mark was long gone. "Well then. Send the information to the number I gave you."

"Oh, uh, you didn't give me a number."

"It's in your shoe."

Confusion furrowed his brow and his mouth fell open. "Wh—uh, what?"

"My number. Check your shoe. See you when I see you, Chuck."

As she walked past him, she ran a hand over his dark curls and smirked at the way his eyes slipped shut and a goofy grin spread across his face.

This would be interesting, and she wasn't entirely sure that was a good thing.

}o{

Chuck raised the mallet and crashed it down on the worn-down lock of the side entrance door. He glanced down the alleyway to see if anyone noticed the loud noise. Satisfied that they hadn't, he pulled the rusted padlock away and opened the door. It swung a bit crookedly but with a little work, it could look alright again. Some paint, maybe. Fixed hinges. Somebody might be able to do that. Right? Sure.

He ducked in and was hit by a cloud of dust.

After a sneezing fit that lasted a good minute, he walked carefully down some rickety stairs and looked around the place for a light. When he was unsuccessful after a few minutes of blindly running his hands along the walls, he turned on his flashlight and swept it around the room, wondering why he hadn't just whipped it out in the first place.

The basement was absolutely empty, save for a few broken chairs, a table, and a shattered lightbulb that looked like it was from the 1960s.

"Well damn," he muttered to himself.

When he walked back into the alleyway, he did his best to stay positive. He'd found the abandoned building a few weeks before and thought it might make the perfect base for their operations.

It was in the West End, near the Thames, but in an older, more rundown area that was close to the dock yards. There were a few buildings around the place that were a step away from being purchased and bulldozed to make room for a giant Tesco. That would take months to settle, Chuck had discovered while researching the paperwork that surrounded the project. This meant the building would be practically ignored for three months at the least. That gave them plenty of time.

First, he'd have to clean it up a bit.

It took an entire day and part of the next, but he scrubbed and polished the black and white checkered marble floor, killed the spiders, swept away their webs, and waxed every last Greco-Roman pillar until the room sparkled. It wasn't up to its original 1920s gambling hall form just yet, but he knew with help, he could get it that way.

Although, he would need everyone to show up at the first meeting in two days' time. And there were still a few loose ends to tie down with the marks he'd singled out.

In all honesty, the only part of the job he was worried about was Walker. She was imperative to his plan, not only for her skills, but for her capability to do whatever needed to be done.

And she was a natural improviser. He'd tracked her movements for four months now, and she was quite honestly the best con artist he'd ever seen. The others were good, capable, maybe even above average in their own particular areas of expertise, but he hadn't been lying to Walker when he'd told her she was best all around.

She could do anything and everything better than anyone. She was perhaps the most important part of this whole con job—outside of his own role, of course.

But she was also the most steadfastly independent, stubborn person of the criminals he was recruiting for the job. He didn't know if working on a crew was really her thing or not.

On top of that, their first meeting hadn't been very positive. She'd spent most of it threatening to shoot him in the head. As certain as he had been that she didn't have it in her to kill him, especially when he was unarmed, the fear that she might be a little insane riddled him.

It was obvious her emotional issues were more serious than the average young woman. He scoffed to himself. _That's an understatement._

But he'd seen something beneath the cold-hearted front. Even while her S&W never wavered as she pointed it at him, and her voice never quivered when she spoke to him while putting on her little show with the silencer, there was a full-blown hurricane swirling in her eyes. Confusion, maybe. Annoyance, as well.

But what made him sure he'd had the upper hand in the situation (in spite of not being the one with the weapon) was the sadness in her eyes, in the set of her shoulders, her mouth…

What could have made her this way, he wondered now as he thought of her again. What made her think she had to present herself to him as a cold-blooded killer? He could see her hesitation, and as he thought back to that night, he wondered if she'd even been aware of it herself. Probably not.

Chuck wasn't foolish enough to believe that everyone had gotten into the con game in the same way he had. Some were dragged into it, some were born into, and others (and he suspected Walker was one of them) had gotten into it through desperation.

She had been protecting something deep inside of her, hiding it away. Was it hurt? Vulnerability, sure, but where had it come from? And what made her protect it so ferociously?

Something, and he still had no idea what it was even after four months of thinking of little else, had given him the surety, or at least the deepest hope, that she wouldn't kill him. He'd also thought she wouldn't kiss him, but she surprised him on that front.

He didn't want to think of himself as shallow. He liked to believe that he'd trusted her in that moment when she walked up to him with the silenced pistol not because he was sexually attracted to her and she was half-naked and perfectly built; but because he felt he'd seen something deep inside of her that maybe no one else ever had in her life.

Maybe Chuck was giving himself too much credit.

Maybe what he was doing, approaching this loose cannon of a woman again, was foolhardy and dangerous. But he was drawn to her—perhaps in the way a mosquito is drawn to a burning hot flame, and perhaps he'd get burned. But he had to take the chance. He had to.

She _had_ threatened him with her gun again in the bar he found her in a few days before.

He'd followed her down the road to the almost empty bar and hung around outside, peering through the window and watching her body language as she eyed her mark.

Chuck had known the risk. She'd let him live in her hotel room four months ago. Perhaps it had been dumb luck, maybe he'd caught a cold-blooded murderess on a good night…

But he'd stolen himself, trusting that he'd survive this meeting as well.

He needed her expertise, he needed her trust…he needed _her._

And when he'd left, still a little stunned and startled when her number _had_ been tucked into his converse shoelaces (_how the hell?!_), a little thrown off by how good it felt to have her fingers in his hair for just a moment, he wasn't sure if he was crazy or stupid.

Either way, he had to see her again.

Chuck shook his head at himself.

_Get your head out of the clouds and focus. This isn't about Walker's legitimately heaven-sent blue eyes and perfect smirk. Forget about her legs. And the way her voice cracks when she's amused. Or how she talks through her teeth when she's pissed. Or the deep confusion in her eyes when she doesn't think you are watching. Or the fact that she becomes angry when she feels emotionally threatened. The job, Bartowski. The job!_

Just two more days of constant fretting and preparation before the crew met and began planning. That was…if the meeting went well.

It was going to take a lot of work, and most importantly _trust_, but he was certain he'd found the right people for the job.

He was certain.

A little ill…but certain.

}o{

Chuck paced fretfully on the ground level of the building where his new con team was already assembling. It was two minutes until nine and five of the six people he was expecting sat in the next room over, eyeing each other suspiciously as they waited. The conversation he'd half expected to break out was nonexistent and it had made him nervous enough to leave, if only for a few moments while he was waiting.

He moved out into the hallway and stared at the entrance one more time. The main building was worse off than the basement where the gambling house would be set up. The wooden floors were dusty, the wallpaper on the walls was peeling, and he'd had to get rid of all of the furniture and buy a new table and chairs for the room where they'd be meeting for the first time. He'd used his own money for everything, rationalizing that he'd get it back and more once the job was through.

His watch read twenty five seconds until 9 pm and his heart began to race as he looked up at the door again. Walker was the only one who hadn't arrived.

Not wanting her to know he was waiting for her, he walked into the room where the others waited and looked down at their expectant faces.

Chuck moved to the head of the table and leaned his palms on the tabletop. He took a deep breath and let his eyes slip shut. This had to work. If it didn't, he'd really have to rethink his lifestyle. And his career choice. Since they were really one in the same.

He'd probably also have to watch his back. These guys were all carrying. His brown gaze settled on the curly-haired, glassy-eyed man sitting at the table staring vacantly at his own fingernail. _Okay, maybe this guy isn't carrying a piece. We'd all be dead if he was. Or he'd have shot himself at the very least. _

Looking down at his watch, Chuck noticed that it was 9 pm sharp. He should start. He really should start. She wasn't coming.

But what if she was?

He hurried out of the room and back into the hallway, and was startled when the door burst open, revealing Walker charging into the front lobby, all legs and seriousness.

They met eyes for a moment and as she strode up to him, he felt a debilitating surge of relief sweep through him, so powerful that he had to concentrate on keeping his face impassive. "Walker."

"Chuck."

"Follow me."

She did and he led her into the room where the others were sitting.

Jaws dropped and eyes bugged out, and just about every member of the team sitting at the table tipped over when Walker entered the room. Chuck couldn't exactly say he blamed them. Walker's first impression was stunning to say the least. He'd almost had his head cleaved in two because of it.

"Uh, C-Man, are you crazy? You're bringing in a—"

The short, Indian man's words stilled in his throat when he found a blade pointed at his chin, clutched in the steady grip of the woman he was intent on insulting. Chuck watched with no small amount of trepidation.

"PIZZA!" the threatened man squeaked. "Will we be having pizza? I was told there'd be food here." He swallowed loudly, his eyes fixed on the blade.

Walker pulled her knife in and slid it back beneath her coat in some undisclosed location. "I didn't come all the way to London to be insulted," she snapped over her shoulder at Chuck.

"I apologize for him. Have a seat," he said as he pulled out the chair nearest him. She nodded and took her seat, leaning back into her chair and crossing her legs, her features hard-set and businesslike. He took only a moment to take in her tight gray jeans, black boot heels, and black trench coat. She wore a round-brimmed gray wool hat that looked like it belonged in the 1920s, a black ribbon tying it in to her ensemble. Chuck wasn't exactly a fashion expert, but he knew when a woman looked good and Walker looked damn good.

Then again, that was her thing. Wasn't it?

"First off," he started. "I'd like to thank you all for being here. I'll start by saying the obvious. Any of the information you hear in this room stays in this room. You betray anyone on this team, I can't promise you won't find yourself at the bottom of the Thames."

He saw Walker's dubious eyebrow raise. She knew better, but the others didn't. They believed him to be capable of murder, but she'd witnessed his penchant for tranq darts rather than bullets. Obviously Walker would be even more of a wildcard than he'd expected. This could go very badly. Or it could go very well! (He decided to be positive.)

"I'm just going to get down to business. We'll do introductions later." He walked to the board he'd constructed over the last few days, fit with photographs of their marks and notes, connected with strings that made up a web of information. He ignored the mocking smirk on Walker's face.

"These men are all between the ages of 28 and 36. They're young, filthy rich, and come equipped with all the recklessness a seasoned con artist loves to see." He heard a couple of chuckles and sniggers around the table behind him.

He turned back to his team and flipped the marker in his hand. "The basement of this building has the makings of a good old-fashioned gambling house. It'll be one table, by invitation only. We'll make them feel extra special." He grinned for the effect. "By the end of the night, they'll be bust and we'll be in the money. The last sap leaves, we split the money, and we call it a day."

They all nodded except for the big-chested fellow sitting to Chuck's right, who looked a bit pensive. "What makes you so sure we're gonna win, Big Britches?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and smirking cockily around the lollipop he had shoved in his mouth.

"It's Blackjack, Rye. Piece of cake." Chuck shrugged.

"These will be professional gamblers, if your little chart thingy is correct, son," the wide-girthed black man asked as he popped a donut hole in his mouth from the small bag on the table in front of him. "How do we know they aren't professional cheaters, too?"

"If we all do our jobs, we won't have to worry about it." He looked around to each of the faces, then walked up to the table, leaning forward and eyeing them all. He was nervous, incredibly nervous. He'd checked and checked for loopholes in the plot and was sure he'd sealed them all.

But if any of these men (or woman) walked away from the job, there was no telling what kind of trouble it might cause for everyone else. The con wouldn't work without any one of these artists' expertise.

"Now for introductions." He gestured to his right to the cocky man with the lollipop. "Rye, the flasher, talker, no-nonsense thief extraordinaire. And our very own bouncer. Can we call you Rye?"

"What else would you call me, Stringbean?"

Chuck ignored him and moved on. "Big Mike. My hope is that he intimidates the crap out of the players the moment they enter the house, while simultaneously gaining their respect. You're our security, the big boss, and the one thing that should make the whole con believable for our marks."

Then he moved to the next man, muscled, tall, and stony-faced. "John Casey."

He received a grunt in response. This was a man of few words, which is exactly what they needed. "You'll be a plant at the table. No offense, Casey, but you're a hard ass. We need a hard ass."

"Since when is that offensive?" Another grunt. "'Least I'm not Stringbean."

Chuck saw Walker smirk out of the corner of his eye and blanched, although he decided not to take the bait. "Casey will get the job done. Any job. All jobs. He's efficient, strong, and fantastic at improvisation. You wouldn't know it by looking at him." He smirked at the man's answering glare.

Chuck gestured across the table. "Jeff B—"

"Just Jeff." The curly-haired man sniffed and crossed his arms.

"Right. Uh…Jeff. And this is…just Lester?"

"We're Jeffster." The Indian man leaned forward and slowly spread his palm on the table. "Just Jeffster."

Chuck had wondered if…Jeffster…would end up being a problem. They were the oddballs of the group; the weakest link, as it were. They were unconventional, to say the least, and a little sloppy at times, but they always got the job done. The biggest issue was that they were extremely annoying when they were together, but even more annoying when they were apart. He hoped they wouldn't scare away the other participants in the con.

There was also the worry that Walker might kill them.

Her eyes were already flashing dangerously at the watery smiles Jeff and Lester were giving her. They weren't even trying to be subtle about the fact that they thought she was hot. At least the others had schooled their features at least a little by now.

"Jeff and—Excuse me, Jeffster…"

"Thank you, Charles."

He nodded once at the Lester half of Jeffster.

"They're the foremost experts at counting cards. What was your last take in Reno, gentlemen?"

"Six hundred thousand the first day," Lester started.

"A million the next day. Spread between three casinos," Jeff finished.

They high-fived each other, crossed their arms similarly, and looked back at Chuck.

The computer nerd narrowed his eyes at them and pursed his lips. It was a terrifying thought, Jeffster with more than a couple hundred bucks in their pockets. What would they buy with—No.

He didn't want to know.

"Right. Blackjack seems to be their calling."

"Charles, the ladies would say otherwise." Lester raised an eyebrow and smirked. "The ladies. The ladies are…ladies are calling us. We're calling on ladies. Our calling is the ladies. Are the ladies. We like ladies and ladies like us." He leaned to look at the beautiful young woman sitting directly to his right. Walker ignored him completely, instead sending Chuck an uncomfortable and angry look.

_Time to diffuse this situation._

"Last but certainly not least…" Jeffster sniggered. "Walker. She could lift the Taj Mahal right out of India and nobody would even say a word."

"No wonder," Jeff drawled rakishly, his glassy eyes unfocused as they swept down Walker's thankfully covered legs.

"Alright, honestly—You know what? Never mind." Walker could take care of herself. If one of them ended up with a knee in his groin or a blade in his skull, then so be it. The rest of the crew would make do. "We can all agree that she is a beautiful woman. Right?" There were some vigorous nods and a noncommittal grunt from Casey. "Good. Now that we've got that out of the way, as I was saying, Walker improvises, thinks on her feet, and I'll warrant not a one of you could touch her without ending up flat on your back in a matter of milliseconds."

More sniggers.

"That—That's not what I meant." He blushed a little and ignored Walker's smirk. She was incredibly attractive when she smirked, especially when her blue eyes shone through those long eyelashes.

_God damn it. Damn everything. All to hell. Damn it._

Chuck brought a hand down his face and turned back to the board. "Now that we've all made our introductions—"

"And who are you?" he heard Walker ask. He glanced at her over his shoulder, then turned to regard the rest of them.

With a wide smile, he shrugged and answered quite plainly.

"I'm Charles Carmichael."

}o{

A single table sat in the center of the dark room, one light hanging directly over the table so that the rest of the room was shrouded in shadows. A standard deck of cards sat in the center of the table. Chuck stood staring down at them.

In the far corner of the table, he'd set his iPod up with speakers so that pulsating bass and synthesized tones were blasting through the room. He was drowning in the music, bobbing his head to the thumping synth-pop drums flowing through his veins.

He focused on the deck of cards, then picked them up and with lightning fast hands, he dealt the cards, two per imaginary player. When he flipped them over, each of them had cards that perfectly added to twenty-one.

Licking his lips, he gathered the cards, shuffled, dealt again, and this time got them all to add up to seventeen.

Chuck shut his eyes and split the deck into four even stacks. With his eyes still shut, he began shuffling the stacks around the table, sliding them all back into one stack and dealing the cards again. When he opened his eyes, each 'player' had two cards that added up to different numbers.

He slammed two cards down in front of him, face-up. An ace and a four.

"Hit," he breathed, slamming the other card down. It was a five.

He grinned and nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the sound of slow clapping break through his music. Chuck spun around and saw Walker standing in the doorway, light from the hallway streaming in around her and giving her a sort of angelic glow.

She smirked and walked further into the room as he blindly reached out to press pause on his iPod, stopping the music but knocking the speakers and iPod clear off the table in the process. Walker wrinkled her nose in a wince and twisted her lips to the side in a half-assed attempt not to laugh at him.

"Uh, h-hi. There's more where that came fro—You know, I bet it's not broken. This table isn't very high. Hi there. Walker." He gave her a sheepish wave, a couple of cards slipping out of his sleeve and fluttering to the ground. When he failed to catch any of them by flailing his hands wildly, he slumped to the ground in defeat and draped his arms over his bent knees, letting his head fall forward with a hollow-sounding thump.

He picked up his head when he heard laughter. It was a wonderful sound, in spite of the embarrassment. He looked up through his eyelashes at her as she walked closer, kneeling down to pick up his scratched iPod and speakers. She set it back on the table and rounded it to stand over him.

"How's the, uh, card stuff coming?" she asked, still highly amused as her voice cracked.

"It's okay."

"Okay?" She put her hands on her hips and he glanced up at her, taking in her dark blue jeans, white blouse and brown button-up waistcoat. She had her hair pulled back into a messy bun at her neck and a newsboy cap that matched the waistcoat.

The woman was a walking fashion icon. She must have noticed him looking because she smirked again. _That damn smirk._

"Uh…" He swallowed. "Yeah, okay."

The smirk died. "Chuck, you can't be _just okay_ at this. You are the most important part of the con. The rest of us will be there to support the chicanery—"

"Chicanery?" he snerked.

"Shut up. I'm serious. If you don't have this down, we can't go through with it. And I won't be happy." He felt the air stale around him as he sobered and nodded, accepting her hand to help him to his feet. "You won't like me when I'm unhappy, Chuck."

He nodded. "I've got it. I won't let you down."

"You better not. And try it without the loud music. You can't blast your weird neo-eighties music in the gambling house. Not exactly the thing to foster a professional environment." She walked to the other side of the table, swung a nearby chair up to it and sat backwards, leaning her arms on top of the backrest. "Hit me with the best you've got."

"Can you count cards?" he asked, already shuffling the deck.

"No."

He nodded and dealt himself his first card face-up, then dealt her two cards. Her eyes flashed up to him and she raised an eyebrow. He flipped her cards so that they were face-up as well. She had thirteen.

"Hit."

He dealt her a third card which put her at nineteen.

Then he took a deep breath and dealt himself a second card face-down. Their eyes met with similar smirks when he flipped the card. He almost laughed he was so relieved. It had worked. He had twenty.

"Good," she said. "Don't forget the conversation. The other boys will be doing most of that, but just in case." He nodded. "Now do it again, but this time slip the card."

"What do you mean?"

"Sleight-of-hand. Legerdemain. Whatever you want to call it. I want to see you try to slip a card. Cheat me, Chuck."

There was something covertly sexual about the way she said that last little part. Or maybe he was imagining it. Nevertheless, sweat gathered in his palms. This would not do. How was he supposed to fool professional gamblers with sweaty palms? And Walker would be in the room with him.

_Jesus! Everything rides on my ability to perform._

"Fine," he murmured, wiping his hands on his pants and taking a deep breath. He gathered the cards, shuffled expertly, and dealt his first card, then both of hers in front of her.

"So, how are things going downstairs?" he asked conversationally. He had a seven. He flipped her cards. A nine and a five.

"_That_, I'm pleased to say, is going very well. It almost looks like a workable room. Another day or three and we'll have it in tip-top shape, I think."

He felt the card in his sleeve pressing tightly against his wrist, heavy and limp. Would the other players know the card was slipped in if it was a bit warmer than the others? Or soggy from sweat? Would they call him out?

Then what?

But he kept his face impassive as he dealt himself a second card. "That's good. When I first found it, it looked like straight out of the Addams Family." She let out an amused huff.

Chuck flipped the second card. It was a ten. That left him with seventeen. His eyes flicked up to hers. "Hit or stay, Madame?"

She smirked and looked down at her cards that added up to fourteen. If her third card was above seven, she'd bust. Unless, of course, it was an ace. "Hit me."

Chuck smacked his hand down onto the deck, the force sliding the card out of his sleeve and into his palm so quickly that he wasn't even sure if it worked. He set the card in front of her and flipped it. Relief flooded through him. "Nine. I'm sorry, Madame, but that's twenty three."

With the smallest of smiles, she looked down at her busted hand and stood from the table. "I think it's safe to say we're in good hands with you dealing, Chuck."

"That's Charles, if you please," he drawled in the British accent he'd used during a job in Southampton two years before.

"Going for the whole James Bond thing, I see?" she asked, sliding her cards over the table to him and watching as he picked up the deck, shuffling the cards again. "Don't forget you're just the dealer. Even though you're an instrumental part of this job, it shouldn't appear that way to anyone. You deal the cards and that's it."

"Well, we _are _in London," he said without the English accent.

"Fair point. Chuck…" She paused, setting her hands against the table and leaning forward a bit, the newsboy's bill casting a shadow over her gray-blue eyes. "Can you do this? I'm asking you seriously. Because—"

"Look," he started defensively. "I came up with this job, I traveled the whole freaking planet searching for the right people, stalked you—"

"You stalked me?" She raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"Y-Yes. I did. _Everybody_, so you can come down off of Ego Mountain." He matched the fake smile she plastered on her face and continued. "I didn't plan this for the last two months to get cold feet a few days before the actual con takes place and bow out. Give me a little more credit than that."

"Well, we can't have you—"

"Listen, Walker, I know I don't go waving guns in peoples' faces when they confuse me or piss me off," he started, watching her features harden, but he continued anyway, "but I take my job seriously. I'm not some rich boy looking for a thrill. This is how I make my living. This job goes down the drain and I miss a few meals. You get that?" He matched her hard look and hoped he hadn't pushed her into her dark place again.

He watched her waver for a moment, never once looking away from her eyes. And then the hardness was gone and her eyebrow lifted in what looked to be surprise.

Walker held up her hands defensively. "Okay, okay. But…since it's just the two of us in here at the moment, Chuck, I have to ask you something."

"Shoot." She gave him a look. "Not literally. I know how excited you get about throwing that word around."

She twisted her mouth to the side, again to hide a genuine smile that he wished she'd let him see. He was tired, a bit rundown, and a real smile from Walker would do him wonders. But he'd take what he could get.

"Did you seriously track me across Europe for this job, only to dress me up in a skimpy cocktail waitress outfit and prance about wiggling my tits at our marks to distract them?"

Chuck opened his mouth to protest, but realized she was right. Fighting a losing battle against the blush tingeing his face, he shrugged. "That makes it sound bad."

"That really _is _why you brought me here?" A dangerous scowl spread over her face and she leaned closer. "Are you serious? I thought there was more to this and you just weren't telling the others. You wanted to get me into a skimpy outfit because you liked what you saw four months ago and wanted to see it again. You're infatuated with me."

"_What?!_"he snapped. "No!"

_A little, yes._

She gave him a look.

"I need you to be in that room with me and there was nothing else I could think of."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why…both of the things you said."

"I don't remember what I said." He was lying.

She rolled her eyes and he couldn't stop the cheeky grin, as tiny as it was. "There's no way I can justify a beautiful woman being in that room unless she's serving drinks."

"Well, _that's _not sexist at all." He wondered if the disappointment he saw flash in her eyes was sincere. And if it was, what did that mean, exactly? If she cared enough to be disappointed when she thought he was being sexist…that meant she had high expectations of him. So many happy things were happening at once inside of him, but he stamped it all out by convincing himself he'd imagined the disappointment. Or maybe she was faking it. Maybe she was playing him.

"Come on, Walker. These guys are all huge douche bags. If they came in here and a woman was sitting at the table—"

"Women can't gamble professionally?" she challenged.

"Of course they can! And they do! I'm just saying these guys don't feel the same way. I did a lot of work getting to know them better than I know my own friends."

"You have friends?"

"Yeah, that was funny the first time you said it."

She snorted nevertheless, and Chuck found it extremely cute.

"If I could have you sitting at the table, I'd much prefer that, I swear it." He leaned a little closer until there were only a few inches between them, and he wasn't at all surprised when she didn't retreat from his closeness. Chuck was pretty certain she could take him out in the blink of an eye anyways, so what did it matter to her if he invaded her personal space a little?

"Think of it this way," he continued. "If there were a way we could make you one of the players at the table, I'd be all for it, because then you'd be sitting right in front of me the entire time."

_Oh my God, that was so corny. You are _not _James Bond. You're an idiot, Chuck Bartowski._

Walker shook her head and smirked. "Wow. Good one," she deadpanned, moving so close that their noses were almost brushing. Chuck had to resist the temptation to jump back from her to calm his racing heart. "All you needed was someone with a big enough pair of tits. You say you think I'm the best? Then I'm absolutely wasted in this job."

"I need _you_."

"Why me?"

"Because I don't trust any of those guys like I trust you…against my better judgment, I might add, because you have a tendency to be more than a little frightening. And you're kind of insane. Not to mention your vampiric way of eating oranges." She made a weirded out face. "It's true! You take off a patch of the peel 'til you get to the pulp and then you suck the orange dry slowly. Like a vampire. It's really sexy and impressive and stuff but it defeats the purpose of the inherent sharing nature of the fruit."

He paused, realizing what he just said out loud, and realizing the implications—that he watched her eat sometimes when they had down time. And watched her anyways whenever he could. It was difficult not to. So he continued, pretending not to notice everything he'd just realized dawning on her own pretty face.

"You're always threatening to shoot me which is…unnerving, to say the least. And you're dangerously stunning. It's—" He swallowed. "It's almost incapacitating. And I'm honestly nervous that no one will be able to do their job properly with you hovering around. But all of those things—Well, it's a chance I'm willing to take because I need you to have my back. I _need_ the best to make sure this all goes according to plan."

He could see by the way her eyes were fastened on his, her body still, and her head cocked a little, that he'd gotten her full attention, so he continued.

"Yes, you'll be wearing an outfit that will serve to distract the marks. And I'm sorry about that. I am. It's by no means a reflection of your abilities as a con artist. And I'm sorry you'll have to lug around the drinks. But I know you can persuade anybody to do just about anything you tell them to do." She gave him a look. "What? It's true! So while you're refilling their drinks, I'll be cheating them, and—this is the part I was going to tell you in private—I need you to make sure no one is cheating me."

"Isn't that what Casey and Jeffster are for?"

"Y-Yeah." He took a deep breath. "I need you to make sure they aren't playing us either. I need you to be my fixer if they are."

Realization dawned in her features and she smiled a little, looking down at the table and standing up straight. "Wow, Chuck. No faith in your team, huh?"

"I'm just playing it safe."

"And what about me?"

"What about you?"

"Who's gonna be watching me?" She shrugged. "You know, to make sure I'm not playing a game."

Chuck shrugged. "I guess nobody."

She raised her eyebrows and the smile disappeared. "Hm. That might not be very smart."

"Thanks for the warning." He smiled and slipped the card deck into his jeans' back pocket. She just watched him for a moment and slowly dragged a finger across the table top. Without another word, she walked out of the room and he was left watching her until she disappeared into the hallway.

Trust was a risky thing in the con game. And Walker had a multitude of sides to her that most of the time left him completely overwhelmed, and something dangerous and volatile beneath that he couldn't quite put a finger on…_yet_. So why did he feel like he could count on her to back him up? She even warned him not to trust her, in not so many words. He couldn't help but wonder if he trusted her because he liked her, because she was the most stunning thing he'd ever seen, because he was incredibly attracted to her, and because she was powerful and, frankly, the most epic person he'd ever met.

It was possible. It was probable.

And he was likely making a terrible mistake.

But as he turned off the light and engulfed the room in darkness, he found he didn't care all that much.

* * *

**A/N the second: **This is very important. I have people who deserve my sincerest thanks for helping me with all three parts of this installment.

First, I have to thank **somedeepmystery** for doing a record-breaking and thorough and perfect read-through/beta job of all three parts. I swear, she read over 60 pages in less than a day and it was so impressive. And she's been letting me bounce ideas off of her as well. She's amazing. Any mistakes up there were mine, not hers.

Second, I have to thank **dettiot** because she helped me work out some major plot kinks. Especially in part 3. Something I totally missed and overlooked. And when I fixed it, it was so so so so much better than it had been before. You are a GOD SEND, my friend.

And third, my utmost and sincerest and warmest thanks to **Angus MacNab**. Because of some long-winded and thorough discussion, I was forced to really think about my characters, really dig deeply into their backstories, into their psyches, and I did some MAJOR awesome and amazing character development. Without you, MacNab, my characters would be mere shells. And now they're so real to me that...I might be a little bit insane. But this is alright! All the better for the story! So thank you, Sir!

AND, last but not least, thank you ever so to all of my reviewers. You lot are so inspiring. All of the PMs and reviews and tumblr messages. I can't help but want to please you all. So keep it coming. You're all amazing. ALL OF YOU!

Hope you all enjoyed! Look for part 2 and part 3 soon!


	5. Con Game Gamblers, Part 2

**A/N: **Here is part 2 of the Con Game Gamblers!

Thanks to everyone who read/reviewed part 1 and everyone who has yet to read/review part 1 but will in the future at some point! (I like to cover my bases.) As always, your reviews are my fuel. And my friends, I am racing along thanks to the gems I got for part 1.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Chuck. Chuck is not owned by me. I am not Chuck's owner. Chuck's own is not me.

Love you all and I hope you enjoy!

* * *

**CON GAME GAMBLERS, Part 2**

"Our first target is Earl Harris the Second, heir apparent to Harris and Soames Tea products—"

"I like coffee anyways," Lester said, getting a fist bump from Jeff. Their fists missed each other as neither of them bothered to look, so Chuck continued as though none of it had ever occurred.

"Junior, here, has a bit of a problem with the ladies, and by ladies, I mean ladies of the night, and by ladies of the night, I mean—"

"I think we get it, Moron," Casey grunted.

"Right." Chuck made a face at the man sitting to his left as though he'd tasted something bitter, then turned back to the powerpoint. "He's also an idiot. He invested in Grünka Spoons because some dickwad friend of his gave him an _inside tip_," Chuck made air quotes beside his head, "and he ended up losing his father's company a nice, solid million when the company went belly-up. Which, you know, isn't that much in the scheme of things, as people, you know, like tea in England. H&S makes wicked bank."

"He's a sucker," Rye interjected. "I like this."

"Right, well…he's the easy one." Chuck tapped the right arrow key on his laptop keyboard. A man in his mid-thirties popped up onscreen.

"Whoa, we're conning the Spartan king?" Lester asked. "That's a bad idea."

"Yes, Lester. Thank you. He _does_ resemble Gerard Butler who played Leonidas in _300. _Very observant. This, however, is not the Spartan king. His name is Farley Holliwell and he's not as much of a sucker as Grünka Spoons Harris." He went into his briefcase and pulled out a manila folder, tossing it onto the table in front of him and thrusting it into the middle where everyone could see. "This is Farley's criminal record that doesn't exist." He flipped the folder open, revealing pages of information with the lines blacked out so that the only words visible were prepositions like to, a, the, it, by, and for. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

Walker raised her gaze from the folder and looked at him with a raised eyebrow. She spoke up for the first time since the meeting started. "And you're showing us this because…?"

"Because he's a bad boy. And he's got the entirety of HoliTech backing him in his…mmm, let's call them adventures, shall we?" He flipped a couple of pages over and revealed photographs of people with welts on their faces, scratches, black eyes, mangled features…all of them wince-worthy.

"Jesus Christ, it looks like somebody brought brass knuckles to this guy's nose," Big Mike said.

"That's because somebody _did_. Somebody was Farley Holliwell."

"Damn," Big Mike said, pushing his half-eaten sub away, then thinking twice and pulling it back to take another bite.

"He kicks ass for fun. He beats on people, women and men alike, he's an alcoholic, has numerous DUIs he hasn't done time for…but he's drug-free since 2003, so I guess that's good."

Rye snorted.

"But the thing we're most interested in is his gambling addiction. And the enormous ego that comes with it. You send this bastard an invite for an exclusive, hush-hush, underground card party and he wouldn't miss it for the world. But we have to be careful with this one. He's not so easy to sell. He's a cheater. So we'll have to watch him closely." Chuck sent Walker a quick look and she nodded minutely.

"He's a tough guy, too," Casey said. "Apparently." He flicked one of the pictures with his pointer finger. "What if he catches you cheating and he decides to get a little rough, huh?"

"Let me deal with that," Chuck said hurriedly. He wanted to nip that argument in the bud. He was still in the beginning stages of explaining the con to his teammates and didn't want them already finding things that could go wrong. It would fall apart faster than a rickety chair under Fatty Arbuckle.

"No," Big Mike interjected. "Let me."

Chuck smiled a little at the big man and nodded. "You got it."

"Last but not least, Manfredo Xavier. His mother inherited a fortune from her much older third husband when he kicked the bucket." A video of the man walking out of a club and being harangued by paparazzi came onscreen. He verbally badmouthed them in Italian, waving his hands around and pushing them away before he got into a black limousine and it peeled off into the early morning London streets. Chuck froze the video and crossed his arms, looking at his team.

"Fascist, huh?" Casey grunted. "I hate Fascists."

"Pretty sure the Fascist regime isn't the ruling party in Italy anymore, Casey."

"That's what they want you to think," the American patriot scoffed, crossing his arms.

Chuck paused for a moment, his brow furrowed, then turned to his laptop and clicked to the next slide. "Manfredo lives with his mom in Tuscany."

Another scoff from Rye. "Lives with his mom. Typical Italian."

"Riiight," Chuck deadpanned, "and he spends a lot of time in London. His favorite thing is to find little hell holes like this to bust up his step-father's fortune in. It's a nice little kick in the pants to the old man he's hated for years."

"Where'd you get _that _information?" Walker asked dubiously.

"Oh, I-I made that up. But it seems plausible, given the way he throws the old man's money around like he doesn't give a rat's ass." He smirked at her and she looked down at the table quickly, twisting her mouth to the side again.

"Just give us the facts, Charles," Jeff said in a weirdly sober voice. "We don't need any extra…"

"Padding," Lester helped.

They failed at fist bumping again.

Chuck was rethinking recruiting Jeffster suddenly, but found he couldn't really do anything about it now. Unless they killed them and dumped their bodies in the English Channel. But that would be a headache for everyone. He inwardly scoffed at his own musings.

"This guy also has a borrowing problem. Chances are he'll try to bum a few bucks off of his fellow players. That's only if he loses what he brings to the table quickly. Which I'm hoping will happen. If I play my cards right, as it were. If not, he'll want to leave early and we'll be forced to let him."

"We only have three marks?" Walker asked.

"We only have one table. Three marks will maybe rack in around 8 or 9 million for us in one night, if history is on our side. All three of these guys have played upwards of four million at private clubs before and I'm assuming the trend will continue."

"You're assuming?" Rye asked. He leaned closer. "Or you know?"

"I know."

Doubtful looks spread around the table and Chuck felt a tinge of desperation. "Fine! I'm assuming. But—"

"Then there's a chance we might all walk away with pocket change for all our efforts. Is that what you're saying?" Big Mike asked, looking up from his post-dinner dinner. _Didn't he already have post-dinner dinner? Is this post-dinner post-dinner dinner? Or maybe it's dessert already?_

"Okay, look. I get that there's a slim chance they might not play as high as they normally do. A _very _slim chance. But let's be realistic here, guys! When is a con ever a sure thing? When do you walk into the bank knowing you're gonna get the pay out without getting a bullet in your chest? Have you conned a wealthy sheik recently, Rye?"

"Erm…" He gave a little shrug that obviously meant yes.

"Were you absolutely sure you were going to be able to pull it off? Honestly, now."

"No..."

"Exactly!" He paused, waiting for someone else to take up the argument. When no one did, he continued. "So. Now we get to the fun part…"

}o{

She stood in the shadows of his hotel room, peering at the things he'd left lying around as the moonlight coming in front the half-shaded window shone down on them. His suitcase was shoved in the corner of the room and the television had numerous wires strung from it, connected to all sorts of random electronic devices.

Video game consoles. Where had he even gotten those? Did he bring them _with him_? Where'd he pack them?

He was a mess.

She crossed to his suitcase and lifted it onto his bed, unzipping it and peering inside. It was mostly empty, save for his underwear. A boxers _and _briefs man.

_Interesting_.

She smirked to herself under her mask and felt inside the pocket lining the side of the suitcase.

Sarah Walker had never been terribly thrilled about being part of a team. Her reluctance to trust in other people went back as far as she could remember. There were faint memories of hating team sports as a little girl, abhorring the spirit of teamwork, thinking that if she passed the soccer ball to her teammate they'd flub it up and she wouldn't win.

In the confidence game, it ended up being a bit more serious than just losing a soccer match. It was life and death, the difference between successfully pocketing hundreds of thousands of dollars—sometimes even millions—and being out money and having to go into hiding for a few months with the FBI after you.

She shared control of the mission when others were involved.

And worse than that, being on a team meant trusting the other members.

Sarah Walker didn't trust people as a rule.

It was this distrust that led her to break into Charles Carmichael's hotel room while he was out with Casey.

She stopped for a moment.

Strange, that. Casey had swept into the basement where everyone was working on refacing the walls. He'd asked if anyone wanted to join him at the pub and Chuck had accepted immediately. Casey didn't seem like much of a social butterfly. His usual mode of communication was grunting, sniffing and huffing, with the rare single-word reply threaded in here and there. And plenty of growled curses.

And then Chuck had invited her personally, his smile warm and open. He wasn't even trying to hide the fact that he wanted her to join them. There was no mask over the hope in his features when he turned to glance at her over his shoulder.

But she'd disinclined, as it would be the perfect opportunity to check on him.

What she was looking for, she had no idea. Something—_anything—_that might tell her his real identity. Was he an undercover cop, maybe? FBI? Or was he just a player? Was he going to run off with all the dough and leave the rest of them in the lurch?

A large part of her doubted it.

Something about Charles Carmichael told her that this was all on the up and up. _He _was on the up and up…which was a ridiculous thought, considering he was a con artist.

She heard a thump against the door and put everything back the way it was with lightning speed. She darted behind the door and pressed against the wall as it swung open and Chuck staggered in, almost losing his footing.

"Woops, hehe."

_Is he drunk?_

He reached behind him with a groping hand, feeling for the door, until his fingers finally grasped it and slammed it shut. Muttering something under his breath, he turned in the dark to find the light switch and instead found arms wrapped around his neck and a gloved hand over his mouth.

Chuck let out a muffled cry against her hand and struggled, but Sarah was strong, and significantly less inebriated than her victim. She turned him around so that he could look at her. In spite of the mask covering her features, recognition dawned on him. "Walker?"

She stepped back and tugged the mask off in confusion. "How the hell did you know it wa—?"

"Your eyes," he interrupted. "Did you know they're grayish blue but then there is this brown and green crazy blend around your pupil? It's like your eyes are the freaking colors of the rainbow, Walk—_hic_. It's crazy." He paused. "Except…except that rainbows don't have brown."

"Chuck…"

"I retract my rainbow statement. Your eyes are like Mother Nature. Gray for the cloudies when it's stormy and shit. Blue for the ocean and rivers and lakes and, you know, other bodies of water, manmade or nature made, it doesn't matter…"

"Chuck."

"Green for the plants and stuff."

"Chuck!"

"And brown for the dirt. And mud."

"Are you done?"

"What are you doing here?"

"You're so wasted." She shook her head and pulled her gloves off, tossing them along with her mask on the nearby chair. Then she walked him to the bed and made him sit down.

"Casey said that if I drank the—what'd he call it again? He called it Pirate Piss. Which is just gross. Because think about how many sexually transmitted diseases pirates must have had. And then think about drinking their—"

"Chuck, gross! Stop talking right now!"

"I wasn't purposefully bringing up sex, I hope you know."

"What?"

"Sex."

"Oookay, Chuck. Let's get your shoes off." She knelt in front of him and began untying his converse sneakers.

"For sex? Because Wafler, I am not that kind of boy-guy. Man."

She looked up at him with wide eyes. Apparently alcohol made him ballsy.

His eyebrows did a drunken dance on his forehead and he smiled lazily, leaning forward so far that his backside slid off the bed and he tumbled on top of her.

Sarah let out a surprised squeak and caught him against her front, nearly toppling backwards so that he was splayed on top of her. Thankfully, she managed to elude that awkwardness and instead lifted him back to the bed, grunting in the process.

"Did you know I think you're the prettiest girl—No, no." He shook his head vehemently, raising a finger and burping a little. "You are definitely a woman. An extremely—You're a nice woman, you know that? Walker is a nice name for you, too. Because you look nice when you walk. When you're a walker." He stopped and leaned close, his face serious. "See what I did there?"

She couldn't help herself. Sarah Walker laughed. The most pleased look she'd ever seen on anyone's face swept over him. His nose wrinkled and his eyes twinkled and his teeth shone in the moonlight. And even though she knew he was pumped full of some sort of alcoholic poison, it left her a little breathless.

And she hated that.

But she didn't hate it at the same time.

Shaking her head, she knelt down and finished with the first shoe.

"You're going to be hurting tomorrow."

"You gonna kick my ass? Because you always say you're gonna kick my ass and I'm wonderin' if it's gonna be right now."

"No, I always say I'm going to shoot you. That's different. And a lot quicker," she added after a pause.

"Oh, right. That's right. So what _are _you doing here, if it isn't for my body?"

Sarah shook her head again with a sigh. "You want me to be honest, Chuck?"

"Sure. I won't remember tomorrow anyway, so you can trust me."

Her eyes flicked up to his. There was so much sincere humor in them, even with how wasted she knew he was, that it made her smile again. "Fine. I was looking through your things to see if there was anything incriminating."

"Incroomidoobly?"

"Incrimi—You know what? Never mind."

"Ahh," Chuck reached out and framed her face with his warm, gentle hands and she looked up at him again as he leaned forward. She reached up to steady him in case he meant to fall on her again. "You don't trust me still. And you wanted to check to make sure I wasn't a betraitor."

"A traitor?" she asked, her cheeks smooshed from his hands pushing them together. She reached up and pulled his hands from her face, removing his last shoe and standing to her full height.

"What'd I say?"

"Don't worry about it."

He stood in front of her and she was reminded again of how tall he was. Her boots had a two inch heel on them and he was in his socks, and he still had quite a few inches on her.

Sure that he wouldn't remember this tomorrow, she unzipped his jacket and peeled it off his shoulders.

"Hey, did you see my underwear, though? I mean…because that's kinda weird."

"Why do you keep it in your suitcase when the rest of your stuff is hung up or in the drawers?"

"It's my intimates, Walker!" he said, seemingly very affronted that she had the gall to even ask the question. "I can't put them in any old drawer! Especially because these drawers are not lined and that's jus' not o—_hic_—kay."

"Okay, it's bed time."

"On'y if you're coming, too."

She was trapped against him then, his arms around her shoulders, pressing their bodies together. He fell back into his pillows and hugged her tightly, then hoisted her close so that her face hovered above his. She didn't know what to do, and she was afraid of what she wanted to do.

So she froze, her eyes wide, her body reacting in traitorous ways to the way his hands swept down her sides. There was a strength in what he was doing, but also an innate gentleness that left her shivering.

As if he could feel it, even in his drunken state, he rubbed her sides slowly, then moved his hand to frame her face again. He breathed her name and pulled her face down to his, kissing her.

There was a reverence in the way his lips moved against hers, as sloppy as it was, and as much as it tasted like—was that rum? She couldn't tell. She didn't care. Because no man had ever kissed her like this before.

It wasn't lust or desire or want or need. It was nothing like that. She didn't know what it was like. But it felt damn good. The fingers of his right hand swept into her bound hair and she gasped against his lips. When he opened his mouth, she accepted the invitation and slid her tongue against his.

Of all the ridiculous things, what pulled her away from the kiss was the soft movement of his thumb against her overheated cheek. She lifted her face from his with an audible smack as their lips pulled apart and she gaped down at him, her head swimming in confusion and something else she refused to acknowledge.

Her hands were on either side of his shoulders, gripping the ratty coverlet. And she knew she was breathing hard—very hard.

Chuck's eyes fluttered open and she knew if she looked anything like what she saw on his face at the moment—Well, it was a damn good thing he wouldn't remember this in the morning.

"Wow," he whispered, sounding like an idiot from an incredibly corny romcom. It was annoying and scary how much she liked that about him.

With something akin to fear, she started struggling to roll off of him.

As it turned out it wasn't too hard because he passed out before he could even finish the word.

She sat at the edge of the bed and stared at him, covering her lips with her hand.

She could still taste him. She could feel his hands on her sides. He was disarmingly strong.

"Jesus Christ," she muttered to herself, standing up and rushing over to the chair to grab her mask and gloves and shoving them into her coat pocket. "Fuck!" she snapped at herself. "You stupid fucking—Fuck!"

And with that, she left Chuck's hotel room in an angry, confused, and hazy rush.

}o{

The next morning, Sarah Walker sat across the table from John Casey and tried incredibly hard not to leap at him and snap his neck in two. He was the reason Chuck had been so wasted the night before, and he was the reason…_that_ had happened.

But no.

She had promised herself she wouldn't ever think on it again. Or speak of it. Ever. Not ever. Never again.

The door opened and a groan sounded as Chuck ambled into the light of the room, a pair of impossibly dark sunglasses covering his most likely bloodshot eyes, a painful snarl curling his lips—lips she was now all too familiar with.

_God damn you, Sarah Walker!_

"Heh."

She glared at Casey before she could stop herself, but quickly molded it into a look of confusion. She turned back to Chuck and made sure he could see her confusion. Maybe he didn't remember…

Chuck fumbled with his coat and finally got it off before he sank into his chair and dropped his head on the table. "I hate everything in the world," he moaned, his lips muffled against his navy sweater.

"What the hell happened to you?" Casey asked, tossing a pen at his head. It bounced off of his curls perfectly and the young man growled, lifting his head slowly to pout at the older man.

"I hate you. You know that? Whatever the hell you gave me last night destroyed my insides. Not just my liver or my head. But like…everything…inside of me. My whole body hurts. I feel like you poisoned my blood and my muscles and my nerves and tendons and even my…even my fucking bones. You sadist." His head dropped back onto the table again.

"Take any aspirin?" Sarah asked softly.

He lifted his head and looked at her for a long moment. She hated that she couldn't see his eyes, couldn't see what he was feeling or thinking. She didn't know if he was remembering the way they'd touched and kissed before he passed out.

"Yeah. About seventy."

"What the hell did you drink?" she asked.

Chuck swiveled and pointed accusingly at Casey. "You! I am never going anywhere near alcohol with you. Ever. Again. Do you hear me, you…you Satan?"

"I gave him Pirate Piss."

"What the fuck is that?" she asked, curling her lip.

All he did was shrug. "Hell if I know. I made it up when I was already three sheets to the wind. But it sure kicked his ass. Hehe."

"You know, he could have died."

"I am dead," came Chuck's muffled reply. "_Surely_, this is what death feels like. And apparently conning people is some kind of sin because this has to be hell."

"What, you think you goin' to heaven, numb nuts?" Casey asked, kicking his chair back from the table so that it ground angrily and loudly against the wood floors. Chuck groaned again and held onto his head. "I'm gettin' some fish and fries."

"Fish and chips?" Sarah corrected.

"I'm American. They're fries, God damn it. Chips are flat and crunchy and amazing. Fries are fries. And amazing." He growled and curled his lip, ambling out of the room and muttering about chips under his breath.

"I don't even know how I got to my bed last night, but I did," came Chuck's voice a minute later.

"Mhm."

"I swear I blacked out _before_ the—the Pirate Piss or whatever. Because I cannot remember _anything_ past walking into the pub. Seriously. This is the worst."

"Maybe go back to bed." Sarah was barely able to keep the relief out of her voice.

He didn't remember. This meant that things could continue normally. She'd push the events of last night out of her head forever and Chuck would go on blissfully unaware.

They'd pull the con, take their share, and never see each other again.

And that wouldn't be soon enough, she thought to herself as she teasingly patted the groaning man's soft curls atop his head.

}o{

The nondescript black van was more of a charcoal color thanks to the peeling paint. One of the tires was flatter than the other three and there was a crack winding from the bottom left corner of the windshield up to the top right.

"What the hell is this piece of crap?" Walker asked, turning to eye Chuck who had driven her to the site.

"You better not say it too loudly. Jeff might cry."

She lowered her voice. "I'm serious. Why did you bring me here? This looks like the sort of place girls get brought to in movies just before they're raped." He watched as a shiver wracked her body and she reached up to pull her coat tighter around her body.

"It really does, doesn't it?" They were under an old rock bridge just outside of a London suburb. How Lester and Jeff managed to drive the van down into the ravine and under the bridge was a mystery. But Chuck learned quickly not to ask 'how' or 'why' or even 'what' when it came to Jeffster.

The van doors slid open as Jeff and Lester half-slithered out of the vehicle and approached them. Lester's eyes raked up and down Walker's slim figure and he smirked. "Bet you never thought you'd see digs like this, eh?"

Chuck resisted the urge to punch the little man across his weasel face, instead nodding his head at the van. "You sure you guys don't have some sort of Bat Signal attached to your van that somehow drew every last bird in the world to participate in what looks to be an all-out poo assault?"

He met Walker's eye as she grinned. She knew the plan. And unless he was imagining it, she'd seemed rather excited. He tended to imagine a lot of things when it came to Walker.

"Ah. You're a funny man, Chuck," Lester said diplomatically. "Usually I like a funny man, but today I do not."

"I tend to have poor timing."

Jeff stepped forward so that he stood directly beside Lester, then leaned a bit closer. "And besides, the only thing the Bat Signal would do is bring us bats, not birds."

Lester raised a finger, looking a little like a greasy-haired version of E.T. "Truth."

"Unless they were batbirds," Chuck replied easily, stuffing his hands in his coat pocket.

"Batbirds, Charles?" Lester scoffed. "Please. Those don't exist."

"There are millions of species on this planet that have yet to be discovered or classified. You don't think batbirds could be one of them? Come on."

Jeff shook his head, his eyes wobbling about in their sockets. "If batbirds existed, I would know. I know the mating call of every single one of the over ten thousand bird species in existence. And batbird is not one of them." He seemed rather pleased with himself. Chuck fought off a smirk.

"Okay, then what does the bushtit sound like?"

Lester tittered. "Charles! There's a lady present! You should be ashamed!"

"Lester, that's a type of bird," Chuck replied seriously.

"Now I _know_ that isn't true. Right, Jeff?"

"What?" Jeff blinked.

"A bushtit."

"Sounds delicious."

"Jesus, Jeff!" Chuck exclaimed. "That's disgusting! I'm talking about the bird!"

His brow wrinkled in confusion, Jeff just blinked again. "So am I. With BBQ sauce? Mmm. Although not much meat on 'em, which was a little disappointing. I prefer the creeper, personally."

"Why am I not surprised by this?" Chuck muttered.

All of a sudden, Walker appeared at his side from behind Jeff and Lester, pulling her coat tighter around her and buttoning it again. He noticed her face was a greenish tint but was slowly normalizing as the fresh air graced her.

_Poor girl wasn't ready for the torture that is the inside of the Jeffster van. I should have warned her._

"Alright, we're through here," she chirped, clapping her hands together.

"Ah, good," Chuck replied.

Lester narrowed his eyes suspiciously, then turned to look at the van over his shoulder, then glanced back at them. "Hey. Heey. _Heeey! _Charles, you sneaky bastard! You let her into our beloved Loretta, didn't you?"

"No."

"Oh, good."

"I let myself in," Walker put in nonchalantly.

"Right." Chuck smiled at her, which she returned, a glint in her eye. _God, this is fun._

Sarah suddenly made a disgusted face. "Wait, _Loretta_?"

"No one is allowed inside of Loretta without our permission," Jeff said, not seeming as upset about it as his tiny counterpart.

"Sorry, gentlemen, but we needed a few things," Chuck shrugged.

"How did she get in and out without us knowi—She's a ninja! Either that or she's Sue Storm. Are you Sue Storm?"

"They're both hot," Jeff supplied.

"This is true, Jeffrey!"

"Wait, you really didn't know I was in there?" Walker asked, disbelief and a hint of disgust still on her features, probably from her horrific time inside of the vehicle, Chuck guessed. "But _he_ was staring at me the whole time. With his lazy eye."

"Jeffrey! I told you to go to an optometrist for the lazy eye!"

Chuck and Walker exchanged nervous looks.

"It's a lazy eye, not an STD."

They exchanged alarmed looks this time.

"Time to go!" Chuck rushed.

"Yep!"

Side by side, they hurried away from the arguing duo, completely unnoticed as they started clambering up the ravine where they'd trotted down.

"So why'd we have to be sneaky, anyways?" Walker asked as they reached the rental car. "Couldn't we have just asked them for the communication devices and video equipment?"

"Sure. We could have. I guess I just like screwing with their heads," he answered with a cheeky grin.

They both got inside of the car and Chuck stuck the key in the ignition.

"Can their heads even handle that?"

Chuck laughed and the car revved to life. "Valid question, Miss Walker."

* * *

**A/N: **Yes, I know. It's a smaller one. But the next one is the con and the last part so it'll be a WHOPPER.

Thanks again to **somedeepmystery**, **dettiot**, and **Angus MacNab **for their help. You're all gems. Absolute gems. :D

I'd love some more reviews, you know...if you lot want to...Just sayin'...

Until part 3! (rides off on a horse like Zorro)


	6. Con Game Gamblers, Part 3

**A/N: **Oh my GOD you guys. This chapter made me feel like I was tied by my feet to the back of the sled that Balto and his friends pulled whilst traversing Alaska. Specific, I know, but you guys need to know how hard I worked on this. Hahaha!

And not just me! So many people helped me. I literally had a team of brilliant, amazing helpers.  
First **dettiot**, for seeing the problems with the first version of this chapter and helping me work to a better ending on that front. You're wonderful. And I also owe a huge thanks (HUGE!) to **A****erox** for letting me spew my con plot in this chapter to him and asking if it worked with the rules of the game of Blackjack. It didn't at all. Hence the scrapping of my second version of this chapter. Thanks for helping me work out the problems! And finally **somedeepmystery**-even though she had a lot on her plate, she read through my final version (all 13000 words of it) to tell me if it worked. Thanks!

This is the final part of ConVerse Gamblers, but there's plenty more in the ConVerse to come!

**Disclaimer: **I own nada.

Feast!

* * *

**CON GAME GAMBLERS, Part 3**

Sarah Walker stood at the top of the stairs that led to the basement, peering down the hallway in the other direction. Just inside of the furthest door, Chuck was practicing his card tricks. She'd rarely seen him during the last few weeks of preparation for the job, as he had holed himself up in that damnable room with his deck of cards.

The fact that he was practicing so close to the job made her afraid he might psych himself out enough to flub it up when it was imperative to be on his game.

So she hurried to the door and reached out to open it.

It swung open and Chuck stood there, not yet dressed for his role in the con.

"Chuck, we don't have much time. Why aren't you dressed?"

He wore the black pants and resplendent shiny dressed shoes, but he only wore an undershirt and his curly hair was too ruffled to be appropriate for a professional dealer. "Damn it. Have you been doing your stupid card tricks instead of getting ready?"

"These _stupid_ card tricks are going to make or break this team, Walker."

"Get your fucking clothes on and get out here. Jesus, Chuck!" She shoved him back in the room and shut the door, waiting outside for him. She had changed into the short black skirt and dark blue ruffled blouse, unbuttoning the top buttons to leave a bit of her cleavage peeking out. Her black pump heels were extremely tall but comfortable enough. She'd pulled her long blonde hair into a bun at the bottom left of her head, letting a few curled tendrils grace her cheekbones.

The men had requested heavier makeup than she would have usually put on, like a Vegas waitress, Chuck had said. To which she'd replied, "You've never been to Vegas, have you?" His blush signaled that, indeed, he hadn't. Strange for a con man to have never been to Vegas.

When the door opened again and Chuck stepped out into the hallway, she was struck by how…nice he looked. With the crisp, white shirt under the black silk vest that had a red tinge to it when he shifted just so, he looked every bit the Las Vegas casino dealer. It also helped that the black bow tie brought out the regality in his handsome features.

_Handsome? I guess…in a goofy sort of way._

Without quite knowing what she was doing, she reached up and lightly pushed one of his curls from his forehead and back into place, then tugged a bit on the tie to straighten it.

He swallowed. "How do I look?"

"Very quaint, Chuck."

"Don't forget the apron."

She rolled her eyes and pulled it from where she'd been holding it behind her back. It was black and lacy and, frankly, stupid looking, but it had the appropriate pockets for the job. Sarah tied it around her waist, adjusted it and spread her arms. "Better?"

"Perfect."

She pursed her lips and stepped aside for him to sweep out of the room and down the hallway. She followed close on his heels. "Are the marks on their way?"

Chuck pulled his burn phone out of his pocket and flashed the screen at her. It read _Message from Rye: Salmon en route. Thirty minutes._

Earl Harris would arrive in a half hour. He was the first one they'd counted on coming to the table. They'd decided to call him 'Salmon' because Lester kept referring to him as Earl Salmon. For some reason, he thought the Soames part of Harris and Soames sounded like Salmon.

There were so many things about this job that Sarah hated. Jeffster were high on that list. In fact there had been times when she'd nearly left for good, but she knew she might regret it later if she did. And worse than that, there was a chance she wouldn't be allowed to leave.

Then there was the enigmatic Chuck. And the kiss she wasn't supposed to think about. And the fear that he remembered more of that night than he let on, what with the way she'd catch his gaze on her when they were in the same room sometimes. Half the time she wanted to hit him and the other half…well she didn't exactly know, because the moment it flared up, she stomped it down as though it never existed in the first place.

Just as she did the moment she felt his hand drop gently on her shoulder.

"Alright. Estimated time of arrival…9:03 pm." Chuck pulled his small pocket watch from his pants pocket and glanced at it. He bought it a few days earlier instead of wearing his wristwatch, to ensure a free passage of the card from his shirtsleeve into his palm during his deals. She had a feeling it made him feel awesome or something, on top of its practical purpose. There was a certain flair with which he flipped the pocket watch opened and closed.

"Have we heard about Xavier yet?"

He thumbed to another text, flashing her the screen again.

"You know, you _could _just tell me."

Chuck shrugged and she rolled her eyes, reading the text from Casey. _Trailing Sparta. Fleet Street. Estimate 2100 arrival time._

"Okay, that's Holliwell. But what about Xavier?"

The door to the basement burst open, revealing Big Mike huffing and puffing, his eyes nearly popping out of his skull. "Carmichael, you better get down there. You too, Walker. Professor X is two blocks away and moving fast. Jeff is just ahead of him."

Chuck and Sarah exchanged quick looks and followed Big Mike back down the stairs into the basement that was now made up to look like a pool hall, minus the actual pool tables. There were polished wood tables around the room, shining pillars that looked like they fit in a 1930s club, and the Blackjack table directly in the center.

The lights were dimmed low and each table had a candle lit in the center to create somewhat of an atmosphere. They set up a well-stocked bar, nestled in the back corner where Sarah would be preparing drinks for the players. In all, it was a simple set up, but she'd added hints of flair and grandiose decor to insure a professional feel.

Lester stood by the Blackjack table, tapping his foot nervously. She bit back a groan as she saw what he was wearing. He had on sunglasses, a fedora, and a pinstripe suit, his hair greasily swept back behind his ears. _This isn't Miami, Lester._

"Charles, Jeff sent me a message. Professor X is almost here."

The small, weasely man shoved his phone in Chuck's face and Sarah smirked. _Taste of his own medicine._

"Did he send you a penis emoticon?" Chuck asked, wrinkling his nose.

"What? No. That's a thumbs up!" Lester flipped the phone around and looked at it. "It's a—See? There's the thumb."

"That's definitely a penis."

Sarah didn't want to know. She crossed to the bar and checked behind the counter, arranging things neatly so that she could reacquaint herself with the alcohol Chuck had stored there the day before.

"Son," Big Mike said solemnly, "you are looking at a penis. Not a thumbs up."

She heard the loud snap of his phone shutting and the angry scraping of a chair against the floor. "Shut up and let's play some Blackjack. Charles, deal me in."

Sarah looked over her shoulder as Chuck smirked and walked to the table, shuffling the card deck in his hands.

"Yessir, Mr. Shah." Chuck got into place and began dealing the cards. Sarah turned as a loud clamor sounded at the stairs that led to the alleyway where the marks would be entering. Jeff stumbled down the stairs, quite nearly tripping on the last step and crashing to the ground face-first. He barely caught himself on the rail and stood up straight.

He wore a Hawaiian shirt and jeans with holes in them, as well as brown Birkenstocks and black socks, his reddish-brown thinning hair as messy as ever. Why Chuck thought this look would work, she didn't understand. But he was unofficially the leader, and she supposed what he said had to go. She strangely trusted that he knew what he was doing. But he'd given Lester the freedom to choose his own ensemble.

"A beer for Jeff, please?"

She threw Chuck a look of confusion, even while she was digging behind the bar for a cold bottle. "What'll you have, Mr. Gordon?"

"Coors Light."

"_Seriously?_" Chuck asked, looking up from the deck. As Lester looked up at Jeff from the table, Sarah saw the slightest movement in Chuck's hand before he looked back at the table. "Coors Light? Jesus…" he muttered to himself, placing the card he'd just slipped out of his sleeve down in front of Lester…or rather, Shah, as she realized she should think of him from then on.

With a small smirk, she produced a bottle of Coors Light and walked it to where Bob Gordon took his seat on the other end of the table. She set it in front of him on top of a napkin that read "Samson's".

"Thanks a bunch, sweetheart," Gordon said in a Texas accent, giving her a wink that sent chills down her spine in a bad way. She flashed him a wide grin and took the pound notes he slipped her.

As she stuffed them into her apron, she heard the arrival of another guest. When she sent a sidelong glance at the entrance, she saw a short man with dark hair and an impassive face strut down the stairs. He wore an Armani suit, charcoal in color, with a white and light gray striped waistcoat showing under the unbuttoned jacket, complemented by a vibrant red tie and Italian leather shoes.

The man slid his sunglasses off and lightly touched his gel smoothed hair that resembled a more stylish, shorter version of Shah's hair. Big Mike appeared at his side, puffing out his chest and blowing a plume of cigar smoke out of the side of his mouth. "Signor Xavier," he greeted, bowing his head. "Welcome to Samson's."

Dubious dark eyes swept the place, then settled on the table. "Yes, well…" He straightened his suit a little. "I received a tip. I think it was from one of your benefactors, Mr. Samson. _You_ are Monty Samson, are you not?" he asked in his light Italian accent.

"In the flesh," Samson answered. "I like to greet all of my guests personally. Would you like to sit and enjoy a drink first, or hit the table?"

"It is…what you call…Blackjack, no?"

"Samson's is a one table joint and we've only got one game. Blackjack."

Sarah moved a bit closer, wiping down a few of the tables, when she saw Rye slip into the room and sneak around Xavier's back to sit at a table, as though he'd been there all along. He met her eye and nodded once, so she rushed across the room to his side, smiling welcomingly at the Italian as she passed.

"I, eh…was not made aware that there'd only be one table." Manfredo sounded a bit concerned as he tucked his sunglasses into an inner pocket of his expensive suit, tugging the lapels again.

"Yessir. I like my guests to get to know one another. If it doesn't suit you, I understand."

Sarah and Rye waited for the Italian gambler's response, though they were effortlessly conversing about the drink menu. "Just a scotch on the rocks, dollface," Rye said, reaching up with his money and slipping it into her apron. Sarah sent him an unseen glare, knowing that he did it just for show, as their first mark had turned to look at them at just that moment.

"Right away, Mr. Willis."

When the Italian's eyes fell on her, his lips quirked up a little and he let his gaze linger, before turning back. "I'd like to see your selection of wine, Mr. Samson."

Big Mike snapped over his shoulder and Sarah gracefully floated to their guest. "Yessir, what'll you be drinking tonight?" she asked in a North London accent.

"The wine menu, Miss Penelope," her manager answered.

Inwardly cringing at _Penelope_, she expertly rattled off the red wines, white wines, dessert wines and champagne they carried. She could almost feel Chuck's gaze on them as he spoke to Mr. Gordon and Mr. Shah at the Blackjack table. He'd told her Manfredo Xavier's tastes in wine earlier during the planning stages of the con. When he was feeling lucky, he'd order a glass of Moscato. If he was having a bad day, he'd stick to his favorite Barbera.

"Bring me a glass of Barbera, Miss Penelope." He swept her hand into his and kissed the back of it. She nodded and walked to the bar, subtly glancing Chuck's way. He met her gaze for only a moment and she knew he'd caught the exchange. Xavier was in poor spirits and Chuck would have to play his cards accordingly. If he made it so that the Italian lost up front, they'd lose their first mark before the others had even arrived. Xavier had a fiery temper and didn't take to losing very well, Chuck had advised them, although he wasn't really the only one in the group to whom that pertained.

As she poured the wine skillfully into the proper stemmed glass, corking the bottle and slipping it back into the cooler, she straightened to her full height behind the bar and saw that Xavier had been escorted to his seat at the Blackjack table. He sat directly in front of Chuck and looked up at his face for a long while, narrowing his eyes.

Chuck met his gaze with a personable smile. "An' how are we tonight, sir?" he asked in a clipped accent that reminded her of Michael Caine.

"Mm," Xavier responded, pursing his lips and shrugging theatrically. "Non importa."

"Deal in?"

"Si, si." Xavier waved his hand impatiently and went into his pockets for his credit card. "You take my card number, no?"

"Yessir, o' course we do. Money is money, as they say."

"See, now I like that attitude," Bob Gordon barked from the end of the table, leaning over and taking a swig from his Coors Light. "I git mighty tired of takin' my 'Merican money to the clubs in Europe an' being turned away 'cause I don't have them…whatcha ma call-its."

"It's a pound note, Sir," Shah responded crisply, growling when the dealer placed his last card down and busted the small Indian's hand.

"Yeah well, like the good dealer says, money is money." He nodded once very emphatically, took another deep swig of beer and tapped the table. Chuck reached over and placed a card face up on his pile. Gordon's hand was busted as well.

As he and Shah's chips and cards were swept away, the Texan groused, "I take that back. You ain't the good dealer. I have a feeling you'll be a pain in my ass."

Charles Rose chuckled good-naturedly and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Sir. But I deal the cards the way the fates play them."

"Yeah, I bet you do," Gordon grumbled.

As the game heated up, Sarah set the wine glass beside Xavier and he muttered a soft "grazie". She saw Chuck's gaze settle on her hand as she leaned forward, following up her arm and meeting her eyes. A tinge of red shone on his cheeks and he looked back to his deck.

It was rather flattering, but she had an urge to pinch him or kick him in the shin. He was supposed to be concentrating. Apparently he was allowing her to be a bit of a distraction. She glared a little from behind Xavier's back and Charles Rose bit his lip contritely, dealing the Italian a winning hand while the other two busted again.

"Eh! Now that is what you call a twenty-one!" The glee on Manfredo Xavier's face was sincere as he took a sip of his wine and glanced at Jeffster on either side of him. "Better luck next time, fellas, no?"

The other two managed short grunts.

Sarah brought Rye his scotch on the rocks. The man glanced up at her and cocked his head a little. "How's the Salmon?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Willis, but we don't have Salmon tonight." She shook her head and widened her eyes a bit. Harris wasn't due to arrive for awhile yet. He nodded and took a deep swig from the scotch on the rocks.

He made a face. "I've had better."

_Fuck you, _she thought, nastily. Fighting to stop herself from grabbing it and pouring it over his head, she ignored the comment and walked over to Mr. Monty Samson who sat at his own table, eating the biggest cut of steak she'd ever seen. Sarah wasn't sure she knew where he'd even gotten it.

"Something to wash that down, Mr. Samson?"

He shook his head wordlessly, chewing heartily, then gestured to Chuck with his knife. She turned and looked over her shoulder at the dealer. He seemed to be a little unnerved about something. There was a bit of an argument between Manfredo Xavier and Mr. Shah. Gordon was watching with a sideways grin, his face a little flushed.

She saw Shah sweep his sunglasses off of his face and stand up from the table.

"Gentlemen, please," Chuck was trying, holding up his hands.

"You want to tell me something about my country?" Xavier asked hotly, standing up as well. "Go ahead, tiny man. You looka like a weasel!" She noticed his accent was a lot more pronounced when he was confrontational.

Shah spun to look at Samson. Xavier turned as well. Sarah saw Chuck's hands surreptitiously slip under the table and reappear again a moment later. Then he nodded minutely to Gordon, who returned the gesture. "Monty, is this the sort of riffraff I'm to expect in here from now on? I come here for the—"

"Now, now, gentlemen, please," Charles Rose broke in. "Take your seats. There's no need for a confrontation, now, is there? Come on, then." He grinned widely and gestured to the chairs. "Mr. Shah, why don't you sit right here instead?"

Shah moved two seats down at the dealer's bidding, seemingly glad to be away from the Italian hothead, and Sarah barely saw the exchange between the two conmen. Shah was set to bust this round, while Xavier would win.

When Rose dealt the cards, a cry of dismay came from Shah and one of glee came from Xavier. The Italian threw Shah a nasty smirk and straightened his suit jacket again. "Eh, well…some of us get all the luck."

_Well, that went according to plan._

Gordon leaned over and hollered for another beer, to which she complied. She saw that Xavier's wine glass was empty. "Sir, can I get you something else to drink?"

"No, no, no. I can't concentrate." He waved her away and she took the glass from him and scurried off, meeting Chuck's gaze. He had a small smile on his face and she wondered if she didn't give him enough credit. He was handling things rather well, save the Michael Caine accent. That was a little overdone. He sounded like a jolly peddler.

Sarah filled the wine glass with Barbera and set it in front of Manfredo anyways, then handed Gordon his beer. Without even commenting on it, the Italian reached out and sipped the wine, despite refusing it a moment before.

She received another small smile from Chuck. The first part of her job had gone well. Manfredo Xavier wasn't exactly a tall or bulky man. Perhaps the wine would work faster on him than on others.

There was the slamming of a door above and Rye—_Willis_—clambered up from his table to prepare for whoever had entered. His hands were in fists. Samson pushed himself up and tugged his napkin from his collar, tossing it on the table and walking towards the door.

She felt a bit nervous as she realized this could be the police. While their operation looked legitimate on the outside, they didn't have a real license to open a gambling joint. Jeff and Lester had created a pretty accurate rendition of one, but if a cop looked close enough…

Earl Harris moved down the stairs and was heartily greeted by a rather relieved looking Monty Samson. Sarah turned to glance at Chuck whose rigid shoulders eased a little and he expertly dealt the next round of cards.

"How's the odds?" Harris asked, beginning to pull his jacket off. Sarah moved behind him to help, then took the coat to the makeshift coat check in the corner. She could feel him watching her and knew exactly where he was looking. No matter how many times she'd used her looks for her job, it still didn't alleviate the unease she felt when they looked at her that way.

_Eyes on the prize, Walker_, she thought to herself, hanging the jacket up and turning back.

Harris already sat at the table, between Xavier and Shah, accepting his chips and looking up at Chuck. "Charles, huh?"

Chuck tapped his name tag. "Charles Rose, sir. It's a pleasure."

He flashed his charming smile and received one back, then began dealing the cards once the chips were on the table.

Minutes rolled by with an aching slowness that made Sarah feel like she was going a little crazy. She swept around the table, dealing with long looks from the players, filling their drinks, flirting a little when it was necessary…

Once, Chuck caught her eye when she was leaning over Earl Harris, setting a tequila shot down in front of him. As she asked if he'd like a chaser, the man's eyes lowered to her cleavage, giving Chuck ample time to slip a card from his sleeve onto the top of the deck.

As she stepped away, she heard his groan of annoyance when he lost his hand.

"Sorry, gents. This hand goes to the house," Chuck chirped. "But you know the game. House always wins."

Grumbles all around.

She smirked to herself as she leant down behind the bar to slip the tequila back into the cupboard. Her confidence was building now that she had seen Chuck in action. And despite appearing to be fuck-ups in almost every aspect of their lives, Jeff and Lester seemed to be legitimately skilled con artists. Their distracting conversation, on top of Charles Rose's ability to rattle on pleasantly without being annoying, was giving Chuck enough leeway for his tricks.

"Come on, hit."

Willis was standing over Harris' shoulder, egging him on. "Fourteen ain't bad. If I had fourteen, I'd hit."

Harris looked over his shoulder at the imposing, cocky man. Willis made a point of drowning the rest of his scotch in one gulp, barely wincing as he swallowed, and thrusting it out in her general direction. Fighting to keep from rolling her eyes, she rushed over and took it from him, going back behind the bar and making him another.

"I need a seven," Harris muttered under his breath, although everyone in the room could hear him, even over Samson's chewing. His eyes flicked to the left and right of him.

"Don't look at them, son," Willis urged. "Be a man. Take the hit. You can't lose every time, can you?"

Harris gulped and downed the shot of tequila finally. As he slammed it back onto the table, he said with a confidence he most likely didn't feel, "Hit."

Chuck dealt a ten and Harris groaned.

"Next time, Harris." Willis slapped a hand on his shoulder as Chuck reached out and swiped away the young man's chips. Sarah could almost hear the money leaving his bank account and falling into theirs.

Casey appeared five minutes later, resplendent in a black suit of expensive cut, sans tie, his black dress shirt unbuttoned at the top. He wore a faux mustache and beard that made him look a little like a movie villain. A cigar was clamped tightly between his back teeth as he walked straight to the table and sat down at it.

Samson burst to his feet and hurried over, setting a hand on the man's shoulder. "Sean Branscomb, you bastard! Haven't seen your scary-ass face in weeks."

Branscomb reached a hand up over his shoulder to shake Samson's. "Monty. Getting fatter, I see."

Samson chuckled as Branscomb grunted and slapped the table in front of him. "Give me the fuckin' chips, Charles. You know my number."

"Yessir, Mr. Branscomb, sir." Chuck did so speedily and skillfully, before dealing his and the others' cards. She could see his eyes dart back and forth in his head as he concentrated. It made her smile a bit to watch him work. His brow would furrow and his tongue would wet his lips just a little, and then he'd fold back into his affable persona, watching the happenings with only a smidgeon of interest. He seemed to be having fun, as hard as his brain and hands were working. Perhaps Charles Carmichael enjoyed a challenge? He seemed more than a bit interested in her, and Sarah Walker was nothing if not a challenge.

Shaking her distraction off, she set a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black and a shot glass in front of Sean Branscomb and quietly watched the reactions of their marks. Xavier raised an eyebrow and Harris looked a little frightened, subtly leaning away on his chair.

Gordon shook his head. "Boy, Branscomb. You and your damn whiskey. I swear you gonna knock yourself out one of these days an' it'll be right at this table." He chuckled and slapped Branscomb on the back. The larger man's first response was to growl a little.

"Better I knock myself out drinking whiskey than get a heart attack from McDonald's, tubby," he answered.

The table went silent as Bob Gordon blinked once.

Everyone erupted into laughter, including the Texan. Even Branscomb's lips twitched a bit. Xavier looked a bit impatient, even as he smirked. Sarah looked at Chuck over the players' shoulders and widened her eyes when he caught her gaze.

He winked then sped the game up a bit, moving a little faster to appease Xavier who was losing more than he was winning, it seemed. She straightened her apron to distract herself from the way Chuck's wink made her feel a little funny.

The men played with a little more affability for the next fifteen minutes, and while it was encouraging, Sarah was pretty certain it was because they were all imbibing a large amount of spirits, thanks to her constant hovering and refilling.

With her efforts at distracting the marks, Chuck was keeping to his end of the con, while Shah, Gordon, and Branscomb did their own fair share of distracting. Slowly but surely, Earl Harris and Manfredo Xavier were losing their money faster than they were making it back—and she was certain neither of them even realized it.

It was after ten when their Spartan thundered into the basement. His face was set in a scowl as Monty the Manager met him at the door. With Monty and Willis talking him up and feeding him what he needed to hear, the scowl slowly eased itself from his face. When he saw Sarah, she wasn't fazed by the hunger in his gaze. Chuck had warned her privately that there wasn't much that would keep him at bay. He had a temper, he was unruly, and he did whatever he wanted.

Chuck promised her that she wouldn't have to worry about the HoliTech heir causing her any harm. It was annoying that he thought she couldn't take care of herself, and yet there was something sincere in the way he assured her that made her smile now to think of it.

Realizing she was grinning now, she bit it back and poured a glass of scotch with one cube of ice, as the burly man had requested. When his hand grazed hers as he took it, his eye lowered to her chest. There was definite invitation there and she was certainly glad no one in the room expected her to accept it. Even if they had, she'd beat the lot of them senseless for it. _No fucking way_.

As she looked up, Chuck's eyes were steely and dark as they fastened on Holliwell, his features hard. With everyone distracted by their cards, she wiggled her fingers a bit to catch the dealer's attention.

She watched with no small amount of amusement as he jolted a little and looked up at her sheepishly, his eyes softening significantly. He shrugged minutely and went back to the deck of cards, dealing them accordingly with a hint of a blush that she was sure only she could see.

Smirking to herself, she set to refilling the drinks again.

Xavier was looking a bit pink in the cheeks, Shah was half-falling asleep, Harris was swaying a bit…but Bob Gordon looked just as he always had. There were ten empty bottles of beer stashed in the recycle bin behind the bar, all consumed by him and in less than two hours. She wondered if he was a human garbage disposal, or maybe he'd already destroyed his liver enough that it rolled over like _fuck it_ and stopped working long ago. He was probably a biological anomaly. Maybe she should suggest he donate his body to science when it finally failed on him.

_Later, Sarah. Concentrate._

Another half hour passed, and it seemed Holliwell was becoming furious and red-faced, even as Harris and Xavier played on with affable-enough demeanors. Chuck was still concentrating, the average pleased look on his face as he slipped Gordon a rare twenty-one.

It was curious how many risks the beefy Scot was taking. With numbers like seventeen and eighteen, he was asking for the next card, even against the dealer's subtle hinting. She could see Chuck's confusion and knew it wasn't all just for show.

Why was the guy taking such huge risks? And he seemed surprised, although it was barely visible, when he lost. Chuck was sweating a lot and every time Holliwell looked up at him with narrowed, intense black eyes, he nervously looked away and down to his cards.

He even had to reach up and swipe at his forehead with his shirt sleeve once, he was sweating so badly.

Things were taking a turn for the worse, she could see. And when Chuck looked up to meet her gaze, he looked incredibly helpless. It set her heart hammering against her chest, though she was sure it was just nerves. What was happening? Why was he suddenly losing his footing?

How could she fix this?

Chuck's eyes flicked to her and then to Holliwell's empty glass.

She poured more scotch and hurried to Holliwell's side. "Mr. Holliwell, can I—"

"No!" he roared, smacking angrily at her hand and sending the drink spilling all over her front before it clattered to the ground. Luckily it didn't shatter when it connected with the hard floor.

Sarah had a sudden flash of an image in which she grabbed the unruly bastard by the back of his head and slammed his face into the table, breaking his nose. She kept her cool, though, instead stepping back and watching the scene play out.

_Oh, this is not good._

The Spartan shoved his chair out and stood, almost falling over from too much drink. "This bastard dealer is cheating!" he slurred.

"Hey, now…" Charles Rose tried, lifting his hands up defensively, anger dotting his features. The anger, she realized, was real. And despite the seriousness of the situation and the nerves flipping her stomach onto its side, she was interested in the change that overcame Chuck's features. She'd never seen Chuck Carmichael angry. He was goofy, silly, and serious sometimes—nerdy, as well. But she'd never seen him _angry._

The way his eyebrows knit together beneath his curly hair, his lips pursing, his jaw clenched. Dare she think it, he was damned attractive when angry.

"You're slipping me cards!" their mark roared in his Scottish accent. "So that I lose!"

"Sir, why don't you sit down? I can assure you I haven't been slipping you cards," Chuck tried, but the man was adamant and close to foaming at the mouth.

Samson strode up to the table. "Mister Holliwell, I don't hire cheaters."

"This place is a trap! To lure suckers in and—"

"Mister Samson, sir! I'm not cheating!" Chuck cleverly interrupted. If Holliwell had finished that thought, it might raise suspicion in their other marks. Then the whole con would go to hell in a hand basket. "I swear I'm not!"

"If he is cheating, it's because this fat blowhard told him to!" Holliwell ranted, poking Samson in the belly. Big Mike turned red with fury but not before Branscomb shoved his chair out and walked purposefully to the Scotsman so that he stood nose to nose with him.

"You wanna say that to me?" he growled. "I've known Monty Samson for ten years. We served in the armed forces together. I'd stake my life on his honor. If anyone's to blame, it's this Limey bastard." He flicked his thumb at Charles Rose who quite nearly turned purple.

"Well, that's just offensive. Not only am I accused of being a cheat, I'm called a Limey in my own backyard. Mr. Samson, you can't stand for this. I been working here for three years. I've proven myself time and time again, haven't I? Haven't I, Miss Penelope?"

For some reason, Sarah couldn't read him. It was unnerving. What was he doing? What was happening?

"He's right, Mister Samson. He's never cheated before. I don't know why that would change now."

Holliwell spun on her. "An' this bitch is in on it!"

It took everything in her not to knee him in the groin right there. But that wouldn't get them anywhere. Instead, she looked affronted. "Mister Samson, you can't think that I'd—"

"I saw 'em looking at each other an' winking."

"Don't you bring 'er into this! It's not true! Sir, this man's drunk! Look at 'im!" Chuck rushed. Sarah wasn't sure there was much acting going on anymore, outside of the accent. Thankfully he kept that going.

"I swear he's been fixing the game!" Holliwell spat.

"And how do you know that?" Chuck shot back, the anger flaring in full force. "How would you know whether I've been slipping cards? Did you see it, then?"

"No, but—"

"Then how would you know?"

Casey grunted and smirked. "He wouldn't know 'less he was expectin' a certain card that he didn't end up gettin'."

The details of the situation suddenly reared up and hit Sarah right between the eyes. Holliwell had been counting cards, which was why he'd been taking risks. Did Chuck know? If he knew, why didn't he do anything about it?

She inwardly cursed. What _could _he have done?

"Have you been counting cards in my establishment, Mister Holliwell?" Big Mike was suddenly the embodiment of his name, his chest puffed out, anger making him seem much larger than he already was.

"Maybe I have been, but this bastard is a cheat! And his whore's been wagglin' her ti—"

"You son of a bitch!" Chuck interrupted, leaping over the table and tackling the Spartan to the ground, sending chips and cards every which way.

_What the hell?! _Sarah stepped back in surprise, watching as the Spartan pinned Chuck to the ground and brought a fist crashing across his face. Chuck looked stunned for a moment and immediately started flailing, his fists and legs kicking every which way as he tried to fend off the much larger man.

Sarah was so stunned that all she could do was watch, her hands clasped over her mouth as Casey and Rye manhandled Holliwell by his shoulders, tugging him off of the incredibly dazed and bruised dealer.

Big Mike was at her shoulder immediately. "Why don't you get this trash out of my establishment, gentlemen? You show your face in here again, Farley Holliwell, and I'll call the law. You lucky I ain't calling them now, you cheating son of a bitch," he finished, kicking at the air as Holliwell was roughly led up the stairs and to the street.

Sarah looked down to see Chuck just now pushing himself up to sit, wiping his hand across the blood dripping from his nose. She rushed to his side, the shock having turned to barely suppressed rage, even as she acted the part of a concerned coworker.

What in the hell was he thinking?!

In the middle of a con job was not the time to play knight in shining armor, especially when the damsel wasn't even in distress. She almost snorted at the thought of herself as a damsel…let alone one in distress.

_The stupid idiot._

Her eyes flashed dangerously as she helped him sit all the way up. "You okay?"

"Yeah. You okay?" he asked in his accent. "I can't believe he said that about you." Chuck's eyes turned up to Big Mike. "Mister Samson, sir. He was counting cards. Can you believe that? And then what he said about Miss Penelope…"

"You're fired."

"Wot?"

Big Mike shook his head, then nodded to Rye who reappeared from where he and Casey had just thrown him out. "Willis, escort Mister Rose out of my establishment."

"With pleasure," Rye growled, wrapping his hand in Chuck's collar and hoisting him to his feet roughly. Sarah stood up and took a step back, concern still etched into her features.

"B-But Mister Samson! I din't do nuffin' wrong!" Chuck tried.

"You attacked one of my patrons, Charles! I don't stand for that kind of behavior."

"But Mister Samson! He called Penelope a—Well, no! I'm not repeatin' it! It wos foul, is wot it wos!" Even with blood dripping from his nose and down his chin, his hair ruffled and his shirt pulled out of his trousers, Sarah barely resisted the urge to give him a black eye to go with it. He quite possibly ruined the entire job with that stunt he pulled.

"And what is it to you what he says about Penelope?" Big Mike asked through his teeth.

A blush spread over Chuck's face and Sarah felt one as well. She almost pinched herself for it. Maybe Chuck _was _attracted to her, and maybe he'd acted on her behalf, but to ruin the job for it—He must be the worst con artist on the planet.

"Well, I'll be. Miss Penelope, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to go as well," Big Mike said, turning to look at Sarah. Her eyes widened at that. "This is an honest establishment I'm running and you bring around trouble like this…Should have seen this coming."

"Mister Samson! I had n—"

"It's not 'er fault, Mister Samson!" Chuck called over his shoulder. "We were careful! We wosn't—"

But his voice was cut off as Rye slammed the door behind them and disappeared, his fist still tangled in Chuck's collar as he roughy led him up to the floor above.

"Penelope, honey, I'm sorry. I need to take care of my patrons, first and foremost." He laid his hands on Harris and Shah's shoulders. "Go on up and get your things, then."

She just stared with her mouth open. "Y-Yessir. Of course. I'll go."

As she started for the door Chuck and Rye disappeared through, she heard Big Mike immediately apologize to the others. "Oh! And Penelope!"

She turned back, her hand on the door knob.

"Tell Willis to get Mitchell on the phone. I need him to send another dealer down. That is…if these gentlemen would do me the honor of staying. Now that the ruckus is over." He grinned widely at the others.

"Count me in, Samson, ol' boy. I ain't had my fill yet," Gordon answered immediately. "But I wanna free beer for my trouble." He winked.

"Yessir, free everything. Gentlemen? Drinks on the house. With my profound apologies for the slight pause to the game."

The others agreed wholeheartedly and Harris looked rather like he was confused and didn't quite know where he was. Xavier seemed to be rather gleeful about something. Perhaps the 'ruckus', as Big Mike called it, was just the sort of excitement he was looking for?

"Penelope, go on up and get Willis to call Mitchell."

"Yessir."

She disappeared, running up the stairs as fast as she could in her heels, down the hallway, and bursting into the room where she heard the rumble of angry voices.

Rye was standing over a tired-looking Chuck as the young man held a wet cloth to his nose. "Was that really imperative, Rye?" Chuck groused.

"It was, you dumb ass, because you blew this whole shit job! You deserved a lot more than a blast to the face, but that Highlander got you enough already, I guess. I knew I shouldn't trust you!"

"Well, you—"

"Hey!" Sarah barked, rushing up to them to shove Rye away from Chuck and kneeling in front of him as he sat in the wooden chair. "Move," she snapped, pulling his hand away from his nose. It was still bleeding a little and she reached up and felt along the ridge as he whined and tried to pull away. "Stop that! Well, it's not broken. Hold that there." She pressed the cloth against it again. "We're completely fucked if we don't think of a way out of this and fast."

"Yeah, you stupid nimrod," Rye joined in. "Starting a fight with the mark. Good one. Really good."

Sarah turned to look up at Rye from where she still knelt in front of Chuck, unaware of the way her hand was clutching his. "Go cool off, Rye, and tell Big Mike there's another dealer on the way. He can give them free drinks until then."

"Well, what—"

"We'll take care of this!" she barked.

"Oh, I'm sure you will," he said rakishly, his eyes flicking between her and Chuck. She immediately let go of Chuck's hand and stood to her full height, closing in on him, her heels clicking dangerously on the wooden floors.

Rye raised his eyebrows a bit nervously and hurried to the door but turned at the last second, pointing at Chuck. "If this con goes in the shitter 'cause you were too busy making eyes at Walker, I'm gonna kill you, Carmichael."

The door slammed loudly and Sarah looked at the ceiling helplessly for a moment before dropping her gaze to Chuck again.

"Well what the fuck, Chuck?"

"It'll be okay. I wasn't planning on you getting fi—"

"You weren't planning _anything_, obviously. I don't know why I'm not kicking your ass right now. Are you _serious_? Tackling the mark because he called me a whore? Are you in high school? How many times do you think I've been called that before, huh? You think _I _didn't want to jam his glass of scotch down his throat and back out his ass? But did I? No, I didn't. Because we have a job to do and you fucked up in there!"

He looked up from his lap and flashed her his sharp gaze that almost seemed to pierce through her. He stood up and wiped at the blood still dripping from the side of his mouth where one of Holliwell's fists made contact. Now that she was looking closely, and very closely, as he was only a foot or less away from her, she could see a ring mark in the bruise on his cheek. _Ouch._

He looked down at her steadily for a few moments, as if trying to read her, but she didn't budge.

_Why is this room so warm suddenly?_

"Anybody would have fucked up in there. I had no one behind me."

"You must be joking. _Everybody _was behind you." She fought to keep her voice strong.

"Nobody was behind me, Walker. I was throwing signs left and right that the guy was cheating and not a single one of you picked up on it. He was counting cards on his end, I was fixing the game on my end. He started getting sloppy because he was drunk and losing his temper, which is the only way I could tell."

_Shit! _So he _was_ throwing signs. And he was right, no one had picked up on it. But that still didn't explain why Chuck lost his cool and tackled the bastard.

"Alright, so we didn't pick up on it. What could we have done if we had?"

"I don't know. Maybe Big Mike could have kicked him out or something before it got to the point it did."

"Only reason it got to the point it did is because you tackled him, Chuck."

"Wait, wait." He held up a hand and cocked his head a bit like a confused puppy. It was annoyingly cute, especially with the bruises and cuts. Then he chuckled a little, which raised her ire so that she clenched her jaw. "You really thought I was defending you?"

Sarah blanched. "What are you talking about?"

"Walker, for God's sakes! I planned that!"

"What?!" she snapped, completely confused.

He paced away from her towards the door then turned to her and moved closer again. "I saw Holliwell was counting cards and you guys weren't picking up on my cues, and I knew it was only a matter of time before the guy snapped. I knew he'd accuse me of cheating so I had to plan fast. I had to get myself pulled out of the equation without the other marks figuring out I was fixing the game. They would have all left and demanded their money back or something. Then the job really _would_ be ruined."

Sarah narrowed her eyes and watched him as he licked his lips and winced before continuing, his eyes alight.

"See, I knew once Holliwell accused me, Harris and Xavier would lose trust in Big Mike. They'd see it was a front. A charade. A con. So I had to get myself out, but I had to do it in a way that made them forget I cheated." He paused. "The second Holliwell pulled you into the mix, I figured out how to do just that."

"How?" she asked, silently cursing her racing heart.

"By making them think you and I were having an affair. Or at least that I was crazy about you. Holliwell calling sweet Miss Penelope a whore was exactly what I needed to start a fight."

"Wait, so you attacked him to get yourself fired?" she interrupted, knowing she was gaping openly at him.

"Of course! Why else would I tackle a guy who has three times my body mass? Are you kidding? That guy was made out of cement or something!" he rushed out. "I knew I wouldn't have been able to justify a fight unless Holliwell insulted the woman I loved," he said, causing Sarah to have to fight back the flush, "so I played that card, no pun intended, and got myself fired." Chuck frowned then. "I didn't think Big Mike would fire you, too."

"Well, it's a good thing he did," Sarah said, completely out of breath.

"What?"

"I said it's a good thing he did." She'd been totally wrong the entire time. Chuck wasn't only a master at dealing Blackjack, he was also a master at sleight of hand, and he thought on his feet faster than anyone she'd ever met. She'd underestimated him…_again_. He'd knowingly gotten himself attacked by a drunken rage-machine of a man in order to fix the situation. It had been a risk and it had paid off.

_You crazy, brilliant idiot._

He sighed and set a hand to his forehead. "Gah, you did your job, Walker. All of you did. I know I should have been able to do it without him catching me. Not that he actually caught me. It's funny, you know? 'Cause I was trying to make him win, not lose."

"Idiot," she teased, hoping to get at least a little of the self-loathing out of his features. She didn't like seeing that there. He'd carried the whole damn thing on his shoulders from the get-go.

It worked. He smiled a bit, then with a shrug, his jaw set and it was back to business. It caught her off-guard. "So what do we do now? We need a dealer."

Sarah didn't answer, instead walking to the corner of the room and opening the cabinet, tugging her black, nondescript duffel out and tossing it onto the table in the middle of the room.

She unzipped it and pulled out a white blouse. "That's why I said it's a good thing Mister Samson fired Penelope."

"What are you doing?" Chuck asked in a voice that very much sounded like he was freaking out. Sarah's eyes flicked up from where she began unbuttoning her blouse. She rushed forward and grabbed his wrists tightly, looking straight into his brown eyes.

"I'm taking care of this."

"But how—"

"Just—Don't freak out."

He swallowed loudly and nodded, his jaw clenched and his face determined.

"I've got this." She let him go and went back to the table, unbuttoning the rest of her blouse and pulling it from her skirt, tugging the apron off and dropping it to the ground. She ignored the choking noise she heard from Chuck when she took the blue blouse off and stood in only her black bra and black skirt. She saw him spin so that his back was to her.

"A little warning?" he rushed out, his hands combing through his dark curls.

"What?" she shrugged, putting the white blouse on and buttoning it with deft fingers. "It's not like it's anything you haven't seen before."

"Ju—You—Shut up."

She grinned widely and decided there was little in the world that brought her more pleasure than teasing Chuck Carmichael.

"Question." He held up a finger, still facing the door. "Won't they recognize you?"

"Oh come on, Chuck. My face wasn't their primary focus."

"But—Oh. You're right."

"Take off your shirt."

He spun again, seeming relieved that she was fully clothed again, even while his eyes widened in panic at her request. "What?!"

"Fine," she shrugged with one shoulder. "Just your vest then. Spoilsport."

He just gaped.

"Chuck! Your vest! Now!" She finished tucking her white blouse into the skirt and held a hand out towards him.

He pulled his vest off and handed it to her. She shrugged it on and buttoned it, but found it to be too loose around her torso. "Damn it," she muttered, going into her bag again. She found a safety pin in the inner lining and turned with her back to him. "Pin me."

"What?"

"Is that the only word you know? Pin the back of this vest. It's too loose, otherwise."

"Oh! Oh, o-okay. Right."

She bit her lip and shut her eyes as she felt him tug the vest a little tighter. He had one large hand spread on her back and she could feel its warmth through her layers of clothing. The other hand was pinning the back of the vest so that it fit tighter on her body and looked more like it was made for her than a full-grown man. "Got it?" she asked, cursing herself for being a little breathless.

"Done."

She turned to him and noticed how close he was standing, so she took a step back and gestured to the vest. "Good?"

"Wow, yeah."

She ignored the tone in his voice as she hurried to the bag and pulled a pair of glasses out, slipping them on and pulling her hair clips out and letting her blonde locks flow down her back.

Within moments, she had it back up and under a brunette wig of long wavy hair. She grabbed a compact, checked her appearance, and shoved everything back into the duffel. "Put that back in the cabinet, will you?" She swept past him, aware that he was staring. Then she snapped her fingers and turned back to him, reaching a hand out. "I almost forgot. Your deck of cards."

"Oh! Yeah!" He pulled them out of his pocket and handed them to her. "Wait, how did you have all of that in your bag?"

"I'm always prepared, Chuck. You wanted me to be your fixer. That's what I'm doing. Stay here. And, uh, maybe pop a couple aspirin."

She almost got into the hallway when she felt him grab her wrist. "You can't count cards, you said."

"I lied. And anyways, I'm the dealer. I'm not counting cards. I just have to know what's on the table. Remember?" Sarah paused as a grin formed on his face. "Told ya you shouldn't trust me." She met his gaze for a moment, then reached up and within moments had pulled his tie from around his neck and tightened it around her own, tucking it into her vest.

If she'd been in less of a rush, she might've dwelled for a moment on the dreamy look on his bruised face when she finally turned and rushed down the hallway.

}o{

Within the next few hours, as it neared three in the morning, the players were drowsy and nearly ill with drink, and the remaining marks had spent millions at the table. They shuffled out dejectedly.

She had to admit, Chuck had a point. No one had been watching his back like they'd been tasked to. The truth was that each of the marks had seemed too empty-headed to be capable of counting cards. The Scotsman seemed to have meat and anger where his brain should have been, Harris was a frightened, skittish bunny rabbit, and Xavier was too cocky.

They'd underestimated Farley Holliwell and it had nearly cost them everything. Luckily, Chuck had thought on his feet, and received a good beating for his efforts. He was crazy and an idiot, but brave and brilliant at the same time.

By the end of the night, Sarah was certain they'd collect somewhere around 8 million or so. She knew they'd lost Holliwell's 'business'. It would be too risky to collect from him with the way he was thrown out of the club. The law would be on them in minutes if they came anywhere near the Holliwell account.

The house was locked up, the lights doused, ties loosened, and they all convened in the room where Chuck had stayed for the rest of the night, most likely nursing his face. When she walked into the room behind Big Mike, the gangly young man was tucked in the corner of the room, splayed on the floor, leaning with his back against the wall. His shirt sleeves were cuffed and a few of the buttons were undone, revealing a white tank undershirt. He looked rather like a little boy who'd gotten into a tussle in the schoolyard, which was amplified by the handheld video game device clutched in his grip.

He didn't raise his intent glare from the tiny screen as they all filed in, until she heard the unmistakable sound of a spaceship crashing come from the device. He sighed, pulled a face, turned it off and set it aside, climbing to his feet and slapping away the dust from his pants.

}o{

Casey was the last one in and he didn't stop as the others had, instead storming straight up to Chuck, lifting him by his shirt lapels and slamming him against the wall. "You better explain all of this right now. Because you lost us a mark and I don't take kindly to losing things," he warned quietly through gritted teeth.

Chuck let out a soft strangled whimper and nodded, sighing in relief when the beefy man dropped him back to his feet. He straightened himself, rubbing his hands down his front.

"Walker was my fixer," he said quickly, gesturing to the only woman in the room and rubbing his throat with a bit of a pout. He thought Casey's reaction was a little overdone.

"What do you mean, fixer?" Rye demanded. "You almost screwed us all over."

Chuck winced a little. That wasn't entirely true. He _had_ almost screwed them over. But he'd put his faith in them, in their ability to improvise, and when he'd gotten himself taken out of the equation, everyone had played their parts, as confused as they must have been. And Walker? Well, she had saved the day. Pleased feelings spread through him as he realized he'd been right about her.

"Look, we got our money. And Plan B worked," Walker piped up.

Chuck turned to look at her in slight confusion, but was smart enough to school his features and nod. Where was she going with this? "Right," he murmured.

"What? A Plan B? Why didn't we know about this _Plan B_?" Big Mike asked, seeming to be more than a little affronted.

"Didn't think it would come to it," Walker shrugged. "Carmichael thought Holliwell might cheat. Didn't he say it back in the beginning? But we weren't sure." Chuck was absolutely confused by the way she was sweeping to his defense. And he still had no clue what she was doing.

"Wait, that was _supposed _to happen?" Lester asked. "I nearly _wet myself_ and you didn't think to inform us of this development?"

Chuck saw Walker inch away from the smaller man at that. "And how were we going to do that when you were sitting at the table surrounding our marks? Write you a fucking letter while Carmichael was getting his ass kicked by the Spartan?" The look she sent him would have shamed the Hulk into submission. Safe to say, Lester didn't say another word after that.

Walker really had a way of making a guy feel like a dumb ass.

"Look, it worked. We got our money, most of it at least, so let's find out how much and get outta here," she snapped.

"Wait, now. Why'd you need a fixer when you had us at the table? Thought that was part of our job description," Casey observed.

"I, uh—Well, you guys were players. How would it look if one of you darted up from the table, ran up here to change, and became the dealer?" Chuck reasoned. It seemed sound enough to him. "And I needed to make sure you guys wouldn't play me," he finished with a sheepish shrug.

"Hey!" the gruff conman growled. "This here's a team, Carmichael. It ain't in my nature to screw over my teammates."

"I'm sorry. I get that now. I do. But I needed some reassurance. I mean, come on, Casey. It's hard to trust a guy who walks in looking like friggin' General Zod." Chuck cleared his throat when his comparison failed to incite the response he'd wanted.

"Anyways," he continued, "Walker pulled through for us." He sent her a short, grateful look, but she wasn't meeting his gaze, instead looking somewhere near his chest.

"Chuck needed some insurance, Holliwell screwed things up, I fixed it. _We _fixed it. All of us." She said it so nonchalantly, like he hadn't been freaking out, ready to call the whole mission, not a few hours before.

"Now let's find out how much we got and get out of here," she hurried. "Who knows if the Spartan might cause trouble once he's sobered up?"

Chuck spent the next half hour on his laptop, Casey and Walker looking on over his shoulder, one out of suspicion and the other out of curiosity. He hacked into the bank to check that the funds had been appropriately transferred from Harris, Holliwell, and Xavier's accounts. He force-closed the account where it had been sent and quickly split the take into the seven accounts they'd set up in the beginning at different banks around London.

"So…what are you doing?" Casey grumbled from behind his shoulder.

"Transferring our take evenly into everyone's account. It'll be there for you to take out in about two hours at the latest. I'd say give it a good half hour, though, just in case."

"You're doing it right now? Yourself?" Walker asked.

"Yep!"

"Wait…Holliwell, too?"

"Yep!"

"Can't that get us into some unnecessary trouble?" Sarah asked.

"It could. If I were someone else. But I'm me." He gave her a cheeky, closed-mouth smile over his shoulder then bent back to his task.

"Don't you think this is a mite bit suspicious if someone who works at the bank is watching?" Big Mike asked, panic in his eyes, overriding the next question Sarah had seemed to want to ask.

"Nope!" Silence followed as Chuck continued splitting the take into the different accounts.

"You're going to explain further, aren't you? I mean…you're going to tell us, right?" Lester asked.

"You've hacked in under the radar, haven't you?" Walker guessed. "They can't see what you're doing. They wouldn't notice if they were staring right at the account."

Chuck grinned a bit in pride. Perhaps Walker wasn't great at making fake company websites, but she was quick at putting two and two together. And she was one hell of a fixer. "Exactly, Walker. By the time they realize it, if they ever do, we'll have emptied our accounts, closed them, and split."

"Well, shit," Casey grunted. Chuck liked to think he heard a tinge of awe there, but maybe it was his ego getting in the way. "So it doesn't matter that you screwed up with Holliwell," he added, causing Chuck to wince a bit at the 'you screwed up' part.

"11,964,054." Chuck blinked. "That's, uh, 1,709,150 per person."

"Pounds?!"

"Uh, no. Dollars. I'm just converting it in my head for you. And 57 cents. All accounted for."

"That's…57 cents…for each of us? Or do we split the 57 cents? Just to clarify," Lester asked in a small voice.

"Each." Lester nodded. "As long as you withdraw it and close your account by, oh, say, twenty four hours from now, I'm pretty sure we'll all be in the clear."

He tapped a few more keys and shut his laptop, standing up from his seat and putting his laptop back into his bag in the silence that fell over the group as they looked at one another. When he finished, he stood to his full height and glanced at everyone.

Was there supposed to be a speech here? Or maybe, like in a high school classroom, he could say "You're all excused"…No, that'd be rude.

He took a deep breath.

"Well," Chuck said. "I just want to say it was an hon—"

"Shove it, Carmichael," Rye said, leaving the room and not looking back.

"Charles," Lester bowed with his hands together and left. Jeff followed, winking at Walker as she purposefully ignored him.

With a pleased chuckle, Big Mike strode out of the room, most likely picturing how many boxes of donut holes he could afford with his share.

Casey grunted and shook his head. "Good job, Chuck." Chuck beamed. "Walker."

The two con artists nodded jerkily at each other as he passed her on his way into the hallway.

Without saying a word, only offering a slight twitch of her lips that might have been a smile, Walker grabbed her duffel from the ground near her feet and left as well.

The room suddenly felt cold and empty as her blonde hair disappeared around the doorframe. He heard her heals clacking against the wooden floorboards and he swallowed thickly when the front door slammed shut.

Chuck suddenly felt debilitatingly alone. His duffel was heavy with his laptop and supplies. All he had to do was swing by the bank and withdraw his money, close his account, and hitch the first jet back to the states. Or maybe somewhere along the Mediterranean.

The mission was successful. That much was certain. Even with the soreness he'd be feeling in the morning from getting his ass kicked by the Spartan King.

But he was a little morose.

The mysterious Walker, the most skilled con artist he'd ever met, the baddest woman he'd ever seen—and the most beautiful—had most likely walked out of his life for good this time.

Okay, he was a lot morose.

Sure, he could track her down again. She'd been the toughest of all of them to find. She could hide her trail better than anyone. But he could find her if he had to.

He'd at least wanted a chance to talk to her one last time, get her to smile, or even pout a little. Or feel her hand on his arm. Or have her call him an idiot, even.

She'd been his crutch throughout the night, sending him bolstering looks over the players' backs, seeking out his gaze when she was alerting him to something, the impressed look on her face when he'd finally explained that he'd planned it all. Having her there had made him feel comfortable. Safe.

Even when she'd yelled at him she'd been in control, ready to do what she had to, to get the job done successfully.

Chuck wondered if he'd at any point made her feel confident through out the night, either by how well he'd been fixing the game, or by the looks he'd flashed back at her. He wondered if she'd been impressed. Sure, she'd had to clean up at the end, and he couldn't put into thought how that made him feel. She hadn't cleaned up and then fed him to the wolves like she could have. He'd opened himself to it by not explaining his on-the-fly planning to the rest of the team.

Walker had given him credit, saved him from being mutinied by some very put-out con artists. In a sense, she'd saved him twice. He wondered if she was even aware of it, or if she'd done it without thinking about it.

The woman he'd seen a few minutes ago, pulling off her wig and vest, slipping her glasses off and tucking them into the duffel bag, didn't quite resemble the one who'd held a gun to him in her hotel room almost five months before. That woman would never have stuck up for him in this way, swept to his rescue.

Or maybe she would have. He had no way of knowing, really.

The mystery was still there. Even after working with her for almost a month on this con, he knew absolutely nothing about her save the little things he saw in her eyes, and the way she ate an orange. It was still the strangest thing he'd ever seen, a quirk about her he'd not forget any time soon.

But then…

None of this mattered. He'd never see her again. She'd be the woman who never strayed far from his thoughts—the woman he thought about in the silence of his room at night just before falling asleep, wondering what she was doing, where she'd gotten to, if she was alright.

And when next he found himself in a situation in which he was kissing some other woman, he'd think about the two kisses he'd shared with her. One of them was rather hazy still, as he'd been two sheets to the wind at the time, but it was there. And he would cling to it with all his might.

He sighed heavily, aware of how melodramatic he was being, and left the room, switching off the light—but not before spying something on the floor in the center of the room. He made a face and stepped back inside, turning the light back on. He walked closer and knelt down, picking up a small brown leather notebook.

Flipping it open, he found drawings inside of it. Extremely lifelike drawings of some of the team members: one of Casey scowling, one of Jeff passed out on the floor, one of Rye getting hit in the head by a tomato…He chuckled.

That one was his favorite.

He turned the page again and found a heart-stoppingly accurate depiction of himself. He was leaning over a deck of cards, concentrating. Every wrinkle in his brow, every nuance of the muscles in his arms…She'd even drawn him with his tongue moistening his lower lip, the way he knew he did when he was thinking hard.

_She? _

Of course. He'd known right away that this was Walker's notebook. Of course she was an artist. She was the most observant person on their team. She could do everything else perfectly, so why not drawing as well?

As he walked outside and made to slip the notebook into his bag, he heard a click on the sidewalk behind him.

Chuck spun around with his hands in fists, slipping into his best Bruce Lee pose.

Walker stood there with no small amount of amusement on her face. "Ooo, scary."

"Bruce Lee _is _scary, I'll have you know," he answered, straightening in intense relief. "Have you seen the guy's muscles? You could use them for rope."

"What does that even mean?"

"I don't know. I'm just glad to see you."

She was quiet for a moment before her gaze slipped down to the notebook in his hand. "That's mine."

"I know. I found it in there."

"What would you have done with it if I hadn't been waiting out here for you?"

"You were waiting for me?"

"Answer."

"I would've had to track you down again, I guess." He smiled teasingly.

Walker raised a pretty eyebrow and pursed her lips. "You wouldn't find me."

"I did the first time." Chuck paused dramatically. "Aaannd the second time."

"Cheeky."

"Lovely." He bit his own tongue and fought to keep a suave look on his face. Luckily, she'd looked to the side, her mouth twisting as she fought a smile. He couldn't tell in the wickedly early morning light if she was blushing or not, but he had a sneaking suspicion she was. It pleased him to no end.

"Can I have that back?"

"What?" His dreamy gaze dropped to the notebook in his hand. "Oh! This! Right. Duh. Hehe." He cleared his throat and thrust it out at her. "They're good."

"Do you…normally go through other people's possessions?"

"There's no lock on it." He shrugged. "They're really good," he repeated.

"Thanks."

"So…why were you waiting for me?"

"Walk with me?" She cocked her head invitingly.

He complied and let her string her arm through his, even while saying, "I've got no problem walking you home, Miss Walker, but I'm pretty sure anybody who tries to start shit with you is in for a rude awakening." He made a silly karate noise and mimed bringing his palm up into someone's nose.

She giggled. "I don't need your protection."

"Good, 'cause you can kick _my _ass, and I'm pretty bad ass, sooo…"

"I can kick your ass, that's true. So you should step a little lighter."

Chuck slowed them down and lightly tiptoed along. She smacked his shoulder, biting her lip and grinning. "Pull your dumb ass self together and be serious, for just a second. I know that's difficult for you."

He nodded seriously, offering her one last smile. "Shoot."

"Why didn't you tell the guys what you told me?"

"About what?"

"How you planned all of that. And that you did it literally at a moment's notice _while_ you were keeping track of the cards on the table and controlling the game. You didn't explain to them and you let them walk all over you. Why?"

He shrugged. "I kinda just wanted to get outta there. To be honest, Holliwell makes me nervous, running around out there somewhere like a drunken, angry tiger beast ready to strike. I wanted to take care of the bank transfers and split."

"But you told _me_?"

He shrugged. "And what about you?"

Chuck watched as her eyes darted away and she pulled her arm from his and stuck her hands in her coat pockets. "What _about_ me?"

"You didn't have to cover for me. You could have let me burn. Then there'd only be six of you to split the take between. Which would leave you with a little over 1,994,000."

"You did that fast."

"I'm good at math."

There was a minute of silence as they strolled along the sidewalk.

"It didn't feel right, watching you take the bullet when we didn't do our parts like we should have. Jeff, Lester, Casey—they were supposed to be watching, paying attention to you. And…so was I."

He shrugged, ignoring the warmth flooding through him. No good could come of embracing that warmth. "Nothing could have been done anyways. Even if you had caught it."

"How did you think of that so fast?"

"I don't know," he chuckled. "Luck. But I knew the other marks wouldn't trust me anymore as a dealer, and I had to play it so that Big Mike didn't look like he'd set them up. So I took Holliwell out."

"Well, you knocked him over," she replied sardonically. "But you didn't exactly take him out."

"Ha." He shook his head and made a face at her, to which she replied with a smirk. "And you know, everybody stepped up, even though you were all confused. You seemed more confused than anyone else," he snarked.

He cowered when her fist cracked into his shoulder. "Owww!"

"You know, that whole thing with Charles Rose being in a relationship with Penelope the Waitress wasn't exactly necessary. The guy was accusing you of cheating. That's reason enough to take him out."

Chuck was silent for a moment, his eyes darting back and forth, before he shrugged. "Nah, Charles Rose isn't a fighter. He's a gentleman, the type of bloke who'd throw himself on a fire to protect the honor of a lady, especially the lady he loves." He melodramatically placed a hand over his heart, then grinned and fell back into a normal state. "It would've been way out of character if I'd attacked Holliwell because he accused me of cheating, and it was perfectly in character that I did it because he called my girl a whore."

"I guess so," she said quietly, looking out to the street, her face turned away from him. "Don't get me wrong. I still think you're an idiot. But…I'm also, um…a little impressed. I kind of thought you were a sucker. And I thought you'd lost your mind. In over your head. All of that. But you seriously controlled that game, even when you saw Holliwell was counting cards. You're not…any of those things I said, I guess." Walker paused. "Except for the idiot part."

Chuck laughed loudly. "Oh, thanks."

She went on as though he hadn't spoken. "You're really good at this. I mean, you really pulled this off."

"I had help."

"Chuck, I need a partner."

He stopped walking completely, his face going slack and his heart hammering in his chest. She turned and faced him, waiting patiently, her pretty features impassive.

"Pardon?" he asked softly.

"I need a partner."

"You have another con job you're looking into?"

"No, not yet."

"Then what do you need—" He stopped and felt a smile grow on his face.

Walker's eyes widened and she shook her head quickly. "Not—Not like that. I mean a real, professional partnership. I need someone who's as good with technology as you are, a computer nerd, someone who can improvise…And there are so many jobs that would be easier to do if there were two of us."

He pushed his excitement down and shoved it away into the deepest recesses of his heart, almost as if it hadn't been there in the first place. He forced himself to develop a business-like tone. "Married couples don't garner as much suspicion as a lone con artist."

"Right! Exactly." She paused. "You and I, we're good con artists on our own—maybe even great ones—but think about what it would be like if we were partners."

Chuck felt a light ignite inside of his chest as he imagined them as partners. He'd seen movies about spy couples. He knew what that entailed.

When he didn't answer, she continued. "We're better as a team."

He smiled a little. "You trust me enough for something like this? Being partners in crime? Con artists aren't really known for being trustworthy, you know. I technically could have moved all the money into my own account, called it kosher, and left the rest of you in the lurch."

"You didn't, though."

"No, but damn tootin' I could have."

"Nice phrase, but, uh, I think I'm willing to give you a trial period. We could really do some damage, the two of us."

"Mayhem," he answered seriously. He tried not to think of the future, of what might happen between them, lest he get too giddy and cause her to change her mind. He could be professional. They'd be a team. They'd take over the world.

She'd stay in his life. Professional-like.

"Good. Then…first thing's first." She took a deep breath. "I'm Sarah. Sarah Walker."

He shook her hand with a grin he couldn't contain.

"Chuck—"

"Hm, surprise surprise," she interrupted.

"Chuck Bartowski."

They turned and walked arm in arm down the streets of London, their bags soon to be full of money, their futures uncertain.

And it suited them both just fine.

* * *

**A/N: **(Strongbad voice) IT'S OVERRR!

Again, thanks to everyone who stuck with this, my friends who read and review everything I put up. I hope this was a satisfying con to read. I hope you all enjoyed it. And I hope my friends who helped me feel like it was worth it. I feel like it was, you guys. You beautiful so-and-so's.

I know after reading five million words of my wordy wordness you guys probably have very little energy left, so it's super selfish of me to ask you to use that tiny bit of energy to write me a review...But I'ma be selfish right now and ask you to leave a review. Please? I am smiling cutely at all of you right now. Just so you know.

I'm teasing. But seriously. I love you. Leave me a note.

BYE!


	7. Con Game Texas, Part 1

**A/N: **HOWDY! SALUTATIONS!

That up there? That had to happen. 'CAUSE WE'RE IN TEXAS, YA'LL. Yeeehaw! (That also had to happen.) The ConVerse done gone and strapped some silver spurs onto itself.

So we got oursel'n a little sitch-ee-ation here. I meant to write one chapter, an' like'n always, IT GREW INTO A THREE CHAPTER MONSTER. "We do everythang beeyig in Texas."

Seriously, I owe a thank you that puts all other thank you's to shame to my good friend **dettiot **for being a brainstorming guardian angel. She swooped in with her silvery wings of...silver...and helped me work through this WHOLE THING. And because that wasn't enough, she beta'd it too. You're the tops, d!

Without further ado...wait...one more ado. **Disclaimer: **I don't own Chuck or its characters. AND DON'T NOBODY OWN TEXAS. Yeeeeeeooooo! (wrangles a wild horse) Yeah!

And now. Without further ado (and before I stereotype Texas anymore), Part 1 of Con Game Texas.

* * *

**CON GAME TEXAS, Part 1**

"You know, I could really do with some rain right now," Sarah Walker groused as she leaned against the wall of a stylized adobe building, beneath the overhang of the cafe entrance.

"Mmm, so could I," came the deep rumbling voice near her ear as a large, warm hand slid under her white tank top, against the sweaty skin of her back.

The meaning of Chuck's words dawned on her as she remembered a few weeks ago in Lisbon when it had rained suddenly and she'd been wearing a white sundress. The restful jaunt to check out the hotel bar ended up becoming a race back to their room.

Unfortunately, they didn't have time for that at the moment, so Sarah reached up and put her hand over his face, shoving him away with a smirk. "Behave yourself, will you?"

Chuck grinned cheekily and wiggled his nose, leaning back against the wall and flapping the front of his T-shirt, unsuccessfully trying to ease his suffering.

Neither of them were fully prepared for the Texas heat before they took on the job. And the extra hair on his face wasn't doing much to help with the temperature either.

"So who's this guy we're waiting for, anyway?" Chuck asked, resisting the urge to tuck a strand of hair from her wig behind her ear as it escaped its ponytail and fell to her temple.

"One of Marty Gaup's buyers. We make the exchange and bring it back to the villa. Then we're done for the day and we can—" She saw the slow smile spread across his face and bit her lip to keep from grinning, her eyes brimming behind her sunglasses as she looked away from him and down the street. "Finish planning," she continued. "We'll have to be quick about this."

"I know," he replied quietly. She turned to look at him. He was squinting out at the people walking by, looking strange and yet still handsome behind the facial hair he'd grown out. While bearded Chuck was very different from the Chuck she was used to, she wasn't entirely opposed. It had its certain merits. "I don't particularly relish being an errand boy for a drug smuggler."

"Yeah, not at the top of my list either, but being his new hires was the only way we could get close enough to rob him of his prized possession without causing too much of a ruckus."

Chuck frowned and crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes scanning the street for the buyer. She knew that frown. "What?" she asked, tilting her sunglasses down and looking at him over the frame.

"Nothing."

She playfully flicked his earlobe.

"Ah—Heeyy! Ow! I have sensitive earlobes!" he complained and she laughed loudly.

"You're such a baby. You do not have sensitive earlobes. Tell me what you're frowning about." She leaned close as he pouted and held his ear.

"I just…" His ears turned bright red and he opened and closed his mouth a few times, searching for the words to continue.

"Oh, that's cute." He turned to look at Sarah. She was grinning. "You're jealous because Gaup made a pass at me this morning when we got our orders."

"Wh-What? Come on. Why would _that_ make me jealous? I'm not—I'm not jealous. He's like…at least ten years older than me. And he looks like a mix between Christian Slater and that guy from Burn Notice. And he wears pink suits sometimes, which is just…You have to have the right complexion for pink, if you're a guy especially, and he totally doesn't."

Sarah's grin became wider and wider as he rambled. If they weren't on the job right now, she would have taken his face in her hands and kissed him senseless, right here on the sidewalk.

"That being said," Chuck continued, "I would have maybe preferred it if he'd been looking at your face while you were speaking instead of at your—lower than your face." He made a perturbed face, his lips pressed together in a thin line and his eyes narrowed.

She let out an amused huff of air. "Well, we agreed beforehand that we're not romantically involved. I-I mean for the job. So to him I'm fair game."

Chuck snorted derisively. "Like us being romantically involved would stop him from ogling your—lower than your face."

"They're breasts, Chuck. It's okay. You can say it," she said, lifting a flirtatious eyebrow. She watched his Adam's apple bob up and down. "And anyways, we could potentially get into trouble if Marty Gaup knows you're my—that we're together."

"I'm your boyfriend, Sarah. It's okay. You can say it."

She resented his bright smile because it rankled her and was incredibly adorable both at the same time. "What are you talking about? I have no problem calling you that."

She spotted a dark maroon cowboy hat moving over Chuck's shoulder and stood up straight.

"Oh really? 'Cause—"

"Shh. Bodega's here. It's showtime."

The silly smile died on his face and determination shone in its place as he stood to his full intimidating height and turned to look over his shoulder. "I'll make the exchange. You follow and watch my back."

She met his gaze. "Always."

His lips quirked into a small smile and he turned, walking towards the man wearing the maroon cowboy hat. Chuck swept his hand through his hair that he'd grown long and brushed back from his forehead.

The two men met eyes quickly then looked away. Chuck adjusted the cloth grocery bag in his grip just as he was less than two feet away from the man with the same colored bag and he stumbled suddenly, colliding with Bodega pretty roughly.

Two grocery bags dropped to the ground and Chuck apologized profusely, awkwardly brushing off the man's button up shirt and blushing, before bending down to pick up his bag and continue along, still begging for forgiveness as the man growled.

The weight of his bag felt different. It was a bit heavier, and he knew the exchange had been made.

Sarah moved up to his side to match his pace and threaded her fingers through his. "That was kind of sexy the way you did that," she muttered out of the side of her mouth, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb.

"The way I did what?"

"The way you made tripping on your shoelace seem so accidental." Her voice was brimming with amusement.

"Shut up."

"What? I said it was sexy."

"You take pleasure in seeing me squirm."

"I take pleasure in a lot of things, Bartowski. Seeing you squirm is only one of them."

His ears turned bright red again and she beamed. The couple swooped around the block and climbed into Chuck's pickup truck. He put the bag between them and revved the engine, peeling off down the Laredo streets towards the private residence of Marty Gaup.

}o{

Chuck pored over the diagram he was drawing per Sarah's specifications, leaning back against the headboard of the bed, a pillow wedged behind his bare back. The sheet was pulled up to his waist and the duvet was on the ground at the end of the bed.

Sarah's nude side pressed against him as she rounded his left arm with both of hers and pushed her face into his shoulder. "Did you get the guard posted by the greenhouse entrance?" she asked.

"Yep, he's there. See?" He removed the pencil from where he'd been distractedly tapping the eraser against his nose and pointed at the diagram with it.

"Did—Did you give him a mustache?" She squinted at it.

"Why, yes, m'dear. That is a mustache." He turned to grin at her and bounced his eyebrows. "Well, you've seen the guy. He has a mustache."

"Yeah, but you drew the guards as little circles and now this one little circle has a mustache."

"He's a scruffy little circle, I guess."

She shook her head and smirked, looking back down at the diagram and taking it all in. "So where would our best bet be if we wanted to get into Gaup's private suite?"

"Why do we need to get into his private suite?"

She looked up at him through her eyelashes, brushing her lips against his shoulder. "Because we've established that the statue isn't anywhere else in the villa. He keeps it in a chamber, I think. Alarmed. Only way to get in is through his room. We've been over this."

"Right, right, right. Well, we could always pull a Romeo and use the trellis. Oh Gaupeo Gaupeo," he said in a high squeaky voice. "Wherefore art thou, Gaupeo?"

She rolled her eyes. "Stop being an idiot. That trellis won't hold your weight."

"Why, Sarah Walker. Are you calling your boyfriend fat? Because that's not what you said a half hour ago. However, I do seem to recall a lot of '_Oh Chuck! Do that again!_'" he cried out in a high voice.

Sarah laughed loudly, looking at him in stunned disbelief before tackling him to the mattress. He continued mimicking her until she clamped a hand over his mouth. His eyes shone in utter happiness over her hand as they wrestled. But with Chuck's hands occupied with the pencil and his diagram, Sarah easily subdued him.

He moved his arm around and tapped her nose gently with the eraser at the end of the pencil.

"You better stop that," she warned, raising an eyebrow. She was acutely aware of their complete lack of clothing. His lips pursed against her fingers and she lifted her hand away from his face.

"Yes ma'am," he said in a cheeky Texan accent. Sarah hadn't been aware until now that she had a thing for the Texan accent. Or maybe she just had a thing for the bearded nerd pinned beneath her at the moment.

"We have planning to do."

He smiled mutely and nodded, helping her awkwardly clamber back up to her position against the headboard. He joined her immediately and flattened the diagram over the clipboard again. "Kay, so no to the trellis. Because I'm too fat to climb it."

"You're the skinniest freakin' guy, Chuck. But you're also, like, ten feet tall, so…" She reached up to ruffle his hair and took a moment to enjoy the goofy smile on his face. She knew he loved it when she put her hands anywhere near his hair. "Although, _I_ could always climb the trellis into his bedroom."

"Nope."

Sarah bit her cheek to keep her snarky smile at bay. "Why not?"

"Because of reasons."

"That's the worst answer to anything ever, Chuck."

"I thought it was a pretty valid answer."

"Okay, fine. No trellis."

"Right. Because who knows what is in there? A pack of wild dogs or something equally dangerous. Like a man shark. A shark that isn't _just_ in the water. How terrifying is that? Unless you're talking Street Sharks. Those guys are super rad and—" He stopped when he saw the look on her face, a look he'd become accustomed to. "So yes. Both of us. In his bedroom. Not just you. In this man's bedroom."

She grinned and shook her head. Chuck's jealousy had been pretty infrequent in the last eight weeks they'd been sleeping together. It had irked her the first time it had happened in Portugal, when a man had blatantly asked her to his hotel room right in front of Chuck. Not that Chuck understood Portuguese, but he was well aware of the cadence. Before Sarah had been able to say no thanks, Chuck had wedged himself between her and her admirer and growled.

Upon further reflection, she'd been quietly pleased by it. It was a new feeling, having someone else deal with the problem. Trusting Chuck to protect her. And despite knowing she could handle it herself, he'd stepped up and taken the responsibility upon himself. It had been a nice feeling.

It was still nice, she thought to herself as she stared up at Chuck's profile while he swept his amber eyes over the paper. She took a moment to admire his longer hair, the way the curls literally seemed to explode every which way at the back of his head and on his neck. His cute bed head from their earlier activities was even worse with his hair long. She shook the cobwebs from her mind and forced herself to focus when he spoke.

"What about the south entrance? Only one guard. And he's a wee little fella."

"Oh, good. Then even you could probably take him out."

He curled his lip at her. "Haaa. Funny."

She giggled and reached in front of him, pointing to the entrance he was talking about. "Isn't there a staircase right next to this entrance? It should probably lead up to the third floor where his private residence is. I know it at least goes to the second floor."

He let out a short chuckle. "Yeah, kinda the point of stairs, babe."

Sarah smacked Chuck's chest and nipped at his sensitive earlobe. "Quit it with the sass, mister."

She felt him shiver and smirked.

He wound his arm around her and pulled her close so that their bodies melded together as she increased their contact even further by draping her left leg over both of his. "If we time this right, we could get in and out without Gaup even knowing we were there. And then we can go to Tahiti. Or something."

She pulled back and raised an eyebrow. "Tahiti? Really, Chuck?"

"Hey, what's wrong with Tahiti? I've never been to Tahiti."

"Eh." She shrugged and snuggled back into him.

"What 'eh', it's Tahiti! It's, like, _the _place people talk about when they mention vacationy spots."

"That's it exactly. It's so crowded with people."

"Well, what's the point of having a really hot girlfriend if I can't show her off in a bikini?" he asked, grinning teasingly.

Sarah pulled back again and glared. "I'm gonna kick your ass."

"Ooo, promise?" His giant gleeful smile plus the bouncing eyebrows were too much and she swung herself around to straddle him and push him down against the mattress again. His grin faded and Sarah smirked. "Hiyo. Uh…" He swallowed, holding his arms out of her way, the diagram and pencil still in his hands. She lowered herself to lie directly on top of him, pushing her face into his neck and kissing his skin there lightly.

He let out a long, contented sigh as his lips formed a lazy smile. He moved the pencil over and used the eraser to gently sweep her long blond hair to the side, gaping as her tan, smooth skin came into view. It didn't matter how often he'd been in this position with Sarah Walker, or how often he'd stroked his hand down her back and felt the accompanying shiver wrack through her perfect body. It still felt just as amazing as the first time, and he was having some difficulty catching his breath at the moment.

"So!" He cleared his throat, propping the clipboard with the diagram on Sarah's smooth, bare back. "Our pal Marty locks his bedroom door I'm assuming—" he chirped, feeling her lips travel up beneath his jaw.

"That's a good idea. Locking doors," she muttered against his skin, shifting her body a bit higher on his.

"Yeah!" he squeaked, shutting his eyes tightly. "And it'd be good to figure out what kind of lock, or locks, because there could be…" She slid her hand down to squeeze his hip. "Oh, hi. More than one. More than one…lock. Hey! Whoa! There it is. It's there."

"Chuck, I don't care about locks right now." He felt her teeth graze the skin of his throat and whimpered.

"But we need to make more money. And locks are…important…right now."

She propped her elbows on either side of his head and peered down at him for just a moment before diving in for a languid kiss, cupping his face with her hands.

"Maybe…" He took a breath, muttering against her lips. "Maybe not that important."

He dove back into the kiss, locks forgotten. The diagram and pencil slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground beside the bed. Just as he rounded her torso with his arms, Sarah's cell buzzed on the nightstand.

"Mmm," she hummed against his lips, pulling away. "I have to get that," she panted, moving to reach for her phone.

He grabbed her arm and tucked it between their bodies, arching his back so that he could nibble on the juncture between her neck and shoulder, his mustache and beard scratching against her skin and causing her eyes roll back into her head. "Yeah, but you're sleeping and can't hear it."

"It's only seven."

"Early to bed, early to rise. Ben Franklin."

"Oh okay, _before _you wanted to talk about the lock on Gaup's bedroom door but now that I have to answer the phone you're friggin'—" He began licking along her collarbone and she decided to stop it right there. "You know what?" She moved her hand up and grabbed ahold of his nose.

"Ah, ah, ah! Ow! Okay, okay! Answer it!"

She grinned in triumph and reached over for her phone to looked at the screen. "Sh. It's David."

Sarah swiped her thumb over the phone's screen, meanwhile noticing that he was experimentally scrunching up his sore nose. She slapped his hand away gently and placed a soft peck on the tip of his nose, placing the phone up to her ear as Chuck's features melted. "Hello?"

"Wolf? Do you have Piranha there with you?"

"He's here." And to emphasize that point, she felt Chuck's hand wander beneath the sheet. She squirmed and gave him a warning look. But the mischief in his brown eyes was telling her he'd not listen anytime soon.

"Good. The boss has a job for you. It's important. You and Piranha come to the house tomorrow at 11 am. Details will follow."

"You mean…G—" She swallowed Gaup's name because she knew she shouldn't say it over the phone just in case…but mostly because Chuck chose that moment squeeze her leg and tug her tighter against him. "Uh, the boss is going to give us a job personally? We get to speak to him?"

"That's right. Tell Piranha to comb that mop on his pickle head…" Sarah frowned. Chuck didn't have a pickle head, nor was his hair _a mop_. Her idle fingers unconsciously stroked in his soft curls. "…And you? You wear something nice for the boss, eh?"

Sarah ignored the comment and hung up, wishing she could reach through the phone and strangle the snickering douche bag. She tossed the phone onto the desk and looked down at Chuck.

"Well, we've got a job," she sighed.

"A job?" He raised an eyebrow. "I already got a job. Hehe."

"That was a bad one."

"Was it?"

"Oh yeah. Pretty bad. Like, you won't be getting another job anytime soon bad."

He sighed. "Aw. M'sorry."

She bit her cheek to keep from smiling at his cuteness. "We have to go to Gaup's place at 11 tomorrow and he'll tell us then."

"Well, that sounds like a party and a half. Wonder if he'll wear his pink suit. Or the striped blue suit. With those dumb aviators and alligator shoes."

But then he looked into Sarah's face, the way she was patiently watching, waiting for him to figure out what they _could _be doing right now instead of chatting about Marty Gaup's wardrobe. He grinned and rolled them over, pinning her to the mattress as she threw her head back and laughed.

}o{

"This is Georgina Montgomery, also known as Renate Bauch, Ashleigh Norse…And she's now masquerading under the pseudonym of Jane Cheetham," Marty Gaup informed them in his Boston accent, dropping a pile of photos on the table.

Sarah peered at the pictures as she splayed them out in front of her and Chuck standing at her shoulder. They were somewhat blurry because of the distance from which they'd been taken. "She likes wigs, apparently," she said, chewing her lip thoughtfully.

"And wearing very little clothing," Chuck piped up near her ear.

She fought the urge to glare at him as Gaup was standing directly in front of them, but she knew her partner felt the way she tensed when he cleared his throat a little nervously. She only hoped Gaup hadn't noticed the interaction.

"She is incredibly sexy. Beguiling bitch," he snapped at the photographs. "You, in particular, better watch yourself, Piranha. One look at her and you'll forget your name. Especially a kid like you." The drug lord paused, his bloodshot eyes roving to Sarah and drifting up and down her figure. "Although, with a partner like this, you're probably used to beautiful women, eh?" He laughed and socked Chuck in the arm.

Chuck's grin was weak at best as he let out a soft "Heh" and clenched his fists under the table. "Yeah. I think I can handle uh…Jane."

"So what's the job?" Sarah interjected, her business-like tone managing to swing both men back to the subject at hand. "What are we supposed to do about her?" Sarah asked.

Gaup straightened the collar of his pink button up and cleared his throat. "All's you need to know is she's a wicked slut. I warned her…if she came 'round here again, she'd get it."

"Get it," Chuck repeated softly. "Oh. Oh! Get it. Right. I gotcha." He brought his thumb across his neck and made a sound that didn't bear any resemblance to the sound of a throat being cut. Sarah resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him. At least he wasn't turning green. Chuck had a tendency to either go green or pale when someone mentioned him and murder in the same sentence. Thankfully, he was his natural color for now.

"You want us to capture her and bring her back?" Sarah asked, keeping her voice even. "Or just kill her? You want a body? Picture? Some kind of proof we got the job done?"

Marty Gaup ran his hands down his front again and smiled a little, taking a moment to let his eyes appraise her. "Right down to business, aren't ya? I haven't finished yet, sweetheart." He turned his gaze to Chuck. "Is she always this impatient?"

There was something decidedly lecherous in the way he said it and Sarah felt waves of heat emanating from Chuck as he stood beside her. She wanted to touch him, knowing all it took was the lightest of grazes, a finger against his palm or his wrist, to calm him down, to pull him back to the task at hand. But she couldn't risk it. The table was low enough that Gaup would see the action. As would his henchmen waiting behind them.

"Nope!" Chuck chirped. "She just likes killing people, Boss. It's her specialty. She kills _a lot_ of people. Lots of killing. And for the most trivial reasons, too. The smallest things. Deadly. Deadly Wolf. Isn't that…isn't that what they called you in Thailand? Deadly Wolf?"

"That was Giant Blonde She-Male, actually," she said, narrowing her eyes at him. She could still see the way he was working his jaw. He was pissed. And as funny as his attempt to dispel that anger would have been in any other moment, she was a little worried he might get carried away. And they couldn't afford that.

Gaup cleared his throat and they snapped back to attention. "I heard she was back in Texas yesterday. Here. In _my _town. My men spotted her during their rounds yesterday and trailed her for awhile. She's up to somethin'. And it has to do with me." His eyes darkened. "This time I'm getting the jump on her, though." He reached up and snapped his fingers at one of his henchmen.

The tall, stringy fellow stepped forward and pulled a wrinkled business card out of his pocket, handing it to his boss. "She was having a coffee yesterday afternoon and spit out her gum into this business card," the tall man said quickly. "We picked it up when she left."

Apparently having very little care for germs, Gaup straightened the card and thrust it out at Chuck. When her partner seemed a little hesitant to take it, Sarah rolled her eyes and reached out to snatch the card, turning it over. "It's a club just outside of the city. I saw it when we were scoping the town yesterday," she said. "I know where it is."

"That's where she's going tonight?" Chuck asked.

"Well, she didn't go there last night. We had our eyes on 'er all yesterday and part o' today."

Sarah bit the inside of her cheek. She shouldn't ask too many questions, she knew. Marty Gaup didn't seem like the sort of man who liked explaining things. And he seemed smart, smarter than a lot of the criminals she'd brushed elbows with before. And he looked like he had a short fuse. But she had to ask.

"So, Boss, why you honoring me and Piranha with the hit job? You just recruited us. Why not give the job to somebody like stringbean over here?" she asked, jerking her thumb at the henchman who'd handed over the card.

"I wouldn't have," he said, walking to his large plush chair and flopping into it. He snapped his fingers and another henchman appeared at his side, opening a box of cigars towards him. He calmly picked one out and the henchman snipped the end and lit it for him. "Except that I'm pretty sure the bitch knows all my guys. You two are new. And you'd make a good lookin' couple at a club. Well…you'dmake up for _him_, at least," he added, shaking his cigar at Chuck cheekily.

Sarah appeased herself by thinking nasty thoughts behind the calm smirk that settled on her face. Like, for instance, at least Chuck's tanned skin was natural and not from a tube. And his hair was dark and full and curly, unlike the dyed Ken doll hair that would soon become a comb over…probably in the next five years, Sarah mused silently. And Chuck was marvelously tall with broad shoulders and a thin waist. And toned, long arms. She knew he could make any suit look good—even a pink one.

Feeling better, she shrugged. "So how do we pick her out of the crowd? Any markers?"

"You mean like a birthmark or somethin'?" He let a seedy chuckle. "Never paid much attention to her birthmarks if you know what I mean. Had other things on my mind. But, uh…she was injured when she was young, I think. Her left arm." He lifted his left arm up and wiggled it a bit.

Chuck was hoping some of the ash from the cigar would fall onto his lap, but unfortunately that didn't happen. "There's a scar we should be looking for?" Chuck asked.

"Nah. There ain't a scar. But she can't lift it all the way."

Sarah nodded. "And she looks about my height."

"Little taller. And she likes her heels. She'll be about six foot with heels. Maybe even taller. And thin."

She nodded again, then sent Chuck a look. "We're done here, then. About the proof…"

He waved her off and picked something out of his teeth. "Just take care of it. You're professionals, right? Killers?"

"We kill a lot of people," Chuck answered. "All—All the time." He reached up to nervously smooth his thick hair back, making the gesture look natural, but Sarah saw right through him.

"All I ask is that you make it clean. You, uh, don't wanna stick around if you fuck up." He blew out a puff of cigar smoke, letting it drift up towards the ceiling while he let the threat sink in.

Sarah smoothly swept up the photos, even though they didn't seem like they'd be much help, and tucked them into the folder. "If that's it, then?" She raised an eyebrow at their boss.

He waved them away and they rushed out of the room, staying silent until they were shut in their hotel room fifteen minutes later. Sarah yanked her wig off of her head, tossing it on the mattress. "Well, fuck."

"Mierda," Chuck mumbled. She raised an eyebrow at him. "What? We're near the border. Might as well practice my Spanish."

"Can you be serious for a second, Chuck? We've just become hitmen—"

"And hitwoman."

"Chuck!"

"Sorry, sorry!" He held up his hands. "It's a defense mechanism when I'm terrified. You know this." He rubbed his hands down his face. "We can just get outta here. Cut our losses and split."

"No."

"What do you mean 'no'? You _want_ to go to that club tonight and kill Renate Ashleigh Jane? Because if we don't, Gaup is putting the hit on _us_. You heard him."

"No! Chuck, come on. I'm a thief, not a murderer."

He opened his mouth to say something and paled a little, shutting it again and shrinking back. And despite the fact that he hadn't said a word, she knew what he'd meant to say. She lowered her eyes and licked her lips.

"Sarah—" He stepped forward and she held up a hand, interrupting him.

"No, it's true. I've taken jobs like this before. But that was a long time ago. Before you. When I was alone and desperate, okay? Before I'd established myself."

"I know that."

"And I'm not—I'm not making excuses. But it's different now." His hand was suddenly beneath her elbow and he was stepping closer, wrapping his other arm around her and kissing her forehead.

"It _is_."

"You're a jerk. You know that?" she murmured, muffled against his collarbone. She felt vulnerable and she hated it, hated the way he always made her feel this way. And then when she'd try to lock it away, he'd wrap his arms around her and make everything better. And a part of her hated that too.

Because he was making her dependent. Dependent on him.

The way she'd been dependent on her father when she was just a girl. He'd left her.

And while she knew Chuck would never walk out on her, while she trusted him to stay, there would always be things they couldn't control. A bullet. A knife. A faulty brake pedal. And if she lost him…If she lost Chuck…

"We don't even know anything about this girl," she continued quickly, fighting past the hitch in her breathing, and the way her heart was racing in her ribcage. "Who knows why he wants her dead? Maybe all she did was reject him or something trivial like that. You never know with these powerful drug smuggler bastards. They can do whatever they want and get away with it, too. You can see it dripping off of him. He thinks he's God's gift to womankind." She made a face into his shoulder.

"Sarah, this guy has got the entire Texas-Mexico border in the palm of his hand. Either we kill this woman or we get the hell outta here. Because the third option is that we get dead and I am not ready to get dead." He grabbed the folder out of her hand and dropped it on the mattress, taking her face in his hands and looking straight into her eyes.

She saw in his panicked gaze something else, something that left her breathless even while it confused her. His eyes were soft, his brow furrowed. Of course he wasn't ready to die. Who was, really? But—She stopped that stream of thought when it hit her.

He meant them. What they'd discovered between them only very recently. What they were still in the process of discovering. She felt warmth flood through her as she smiled a little, reaching up to tug at his whiskers fondly.

"I know, Chuck," she said quietly, hoping her face reflected the same sentiment as she looked into his brown eyes. "I'm not ready, either. We're not going to die. And we're not going to leave…just yet."

"But we're not killing her." It was more of a question than a statement. "Chances are she's completely innocent in all this."

"Sure, but…" She moved away and paced towards the window, popping it open and letting some outside air come in. "If Gaup threatened her to stay away from Laredo, wouldn't she be afraid to come back here? If she was innocent, she wouldn't want anything to do with this place ever again. She has to be here for a reason. And he's right. It has to be him. Everything in this town starts and ends with Marty Gaup."

"That's true. But whoever she is, whatever she's doing here, she can't be as bad as Slimy Ass Hole." She made a grossed out face, even as she snorted. "And you know, I don't appreciate how he threw the term 'slut' around like it was nothing."

She just stared at him with a small smirk, her brow furrowed.

"What? I hate that word. Would you like it if someone called you a sl—?" He sighed. "You know."

"No, but he didn't say it to me."

"Yeah, well, he didn't have to." He made a face and hunched over to make himself shorter, mussing his hair and pretending to smoke a cigar. "Is she always this _impatient_?"

Sarah grinned and let out a short laugh, her shoulders bobbing as she crossed her arms. "Oh, come on, Chuck. You shouldn't expect anything less than absolute disrespect for womankind from a guy of Marty Gaup's caliber. Why'd you let it bother you so much?"

"Because it—it just bothers me!"

"Yeah, I noticed. You went off on that tirade about how I like killing people. Like that's supposed to scare him. And then the Killer Wolf part or whatever you were saying…"

"Deadly Wolf," he corrected. "Kinda catchy, though, isn't it? Like Solid Snake or something."

She shook her head. "You went a little too far with that one. Hopefully our boss just thinks you're a little nuts and isn't suspicious."

"Everyone thinks I'm a little nuts." He grinned with his tongue between his teeth and she strode up to him, lovingly brushing a curl back behind his ear and kissing him. He kissed her back, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close.

He pulled away a few moments later and looked down into her flushed face. "So! What are we doing if we're not leaving?"

"We can't leave," she said, her voice catching a little. She cleared her throat and sat on the bed to give herself a bit of physical distance from him. "He's got a golden elephant statue the size of my head hidden away in that villa and I want it."

"You know, when you talk about gold, you get this glint in your eye that's really sexy."

"Oh yeah? Most people think it's kinda intimidating."

"Oh, it is a little. Don't get me wrong. But you know I like that in a woman."

She chuckled and leaned back on her elbows, peering up at him. "Chuck…seriously. Tell me you don't want that statue and we can get out of here and never come back to this shitty deathtrap of a town."

Chuck stared at her thoughtfully. She was being sincere. He knew by the way her eyes were so clear and blue, and the way her lips were set in determination. She'd leave if he asked her to, and that hardened his resolve.

"We're gettin' ourselves a golden elephant, sweetheart," he said in a Texan accent.

The answering grin on her face was so bright and happy that he knew whatever happened in the next twenty four hours, everything would be alright.

"Hey, pardner…" she said in a lackadaisical Texas drawl. "Why don't ya come on down 'ere?" she invited, tilting her head cutely.

"I'm not sure we got time for this, Miss Walker. We gotta job to do."

"Why, Mister Bartowski, aren't we mighty bold today! We got 'til tonight. You think yer gonna take longer'n a couple hours?"

With that, she hooked her fingers into the belt loops of his jeans and tugged him down on top of her.

They didn't come back up for air for at least a couple of hours.

}o{

The music blared loudly over the sound system. Bodies clumped together in the middle of the dance floor, couples mingling so that you couldn't tell where one pair ended and another began.

The rhythm was frenetic, the strobes blinding and the rest of the room dark and cave-like.

Chuck straightened his dark blue suit jacket over his shoulders, unbuttoning the top button of his black button up shirt. It was way, _way _too hot outside, and even hotter inside, for this outfit. But Sarah insisted he wear the suit. He wondered if there'd been an ulterior motive there. She was never shy about how appealing she found him in a well-cut suit. She'd also thrown in the black felt cowboy hat that matched his shirt. His long curls poked out from beneath the brim at the back of his head.

He weaved through the crowd towards the bar, subtly running his eyes over the people in the crowd, trying to spot Jane Cheetham, or at least someone with her build. He tilted his lips closer to his shirt collar where a small microphone was attached so that he could speak with Sarah.

"Hey, you see her?"

"No. God, I could really use one of those Long Island Iced Teas I keep seeing walk past me."

"You've got Long Island Iced Teas walking past you? What are you drinking and might I have one of the same?"

"Shut up and concentrate."

"_You _brought it up."

"Idiot."

"Guilty," he teased, turning to wink over his shoulder in the direction of the general area he thought she was stationed in the club. She'd entered the club a good twenty minutes before him thanks to her innate beauty and the maroon mini dress she wore that showed quite a bit of her long legs.

"Focus, Chuck."

He nodded to himself, pleased by the crackle of humor in her tone as she admonished him, then reached the bar. He ran a hand down his face, experiencing a bit of a shock at the feel of the facial hair that he had yet to become accustomed to, even after almost two weeks of it.

He ordered a whiskey on ice and idly glanced around the club. "It's going to be impossible to find her in this mess," he said into his collar, doing his best not to move his lips as much.

"There aren't a lot of girls in here who fit the bill. Just remember to be careful. And I'm here if you need me."

"Thanks."

He spent close to ten minutes at the bar, slowly sipping his drink, bobbing his head to the trance-like beat, turned halfway towards the crowd to watch for anyone who looked like Jane. He spotted a tall woman in the middle of the crowd, bobbing up and down with the reggaeton beat. He watched her closely as she turned. Her face wasn't helping him identify her as Jane Cheetham, so he subtly kept an eye on her.

"I may have spotted her," he breathed, lifting his drink to his lips.

"Where?"

"Dancing."

"That's very specific, Piranha, thank you."

He rolled his eyes and sipped his drink again, turning from the bar and blatantly eyeing the woman on the dance floor before spinning back to his drink.

"Oh. Her," Sarah's voice sounded in his ear. "She fits the build. I'll keep my eye on her. She'll need a drink at some point. And if she doesn't—"

"I know. I'll have to cut in and take control of the situation. I've got it." Chuck was prepared for the situation, even though it left him feeling more than a little nervous. He would have to drug Jane and pretend she'd had too much to drink, then walk her out back for "fresh air" where Sarah would be waiting with the getaway car.

Then they planned to take her someplace private and get the details about why she was here, perhaps even something that could help them kidnap Marty Gaup's elephant.

After they were in the clear, they planned to alert the authorities about hearing strange noises in the place where they left her and leave them to handle the situation.

By then they'd be miles and miles away, en route to their next destination.

"Wanna dance, cowboy?"

Chuck almost jumped at the voice at his elbow, but he fought the impulse and instead took a large gulp of whiskey. "I'm not much of a dancer," he drawled, looking up from his drink. The words nearly died in his throat as he looked into the face of a stunningly beautiful woman.

She smirked at his reaction and leaned over the bar. "Hey, Harvey. Johnnie Walker Black straight." She turned back to Chuck. "Let me buy you another one of those—uh, what're you drinkin'?"

He swallowed and nearly choked on his own spit. "Heh. Huh. W-Oh. Whiskey, ma'am," he said. "But, uh…I'm alright wit' jes' the one." He sat up a little straighter and in the process banged his knee under the bar. "Ouch!"

She laughed, brushing the jet black hair that waved over her the left side of her face back behind her ear and revealing long, azure eyes rimmed in smokey eye shadow. The bartender put her drink down and she snapped her fingers towards Chuck. "Whiskey for the cowboy."

"Oh! Oh, well thank you, ma'am. That's mighty fine of ya, Miss…"

"Young," she replied in a flirty voice.

"Yes, you are that," he replied loudly, purposefully being a little obnoxious as he tipped his hat back from his forehead a bit.

"It's actually Kelly Young," she said with a bit of an accent, thrusting her hand out for him to take.

"W-Well, that's a purdy name. I, uh, I like that." He grinned widely and took his drink out of the bartender's hand before the man could put it down, taking a long drink of it. "Ah! Yep. That's—That's the good stuff."

"Chuck, our Maybe-Jane is making a move towards the back room. I'm gonna follow her," Sarah said over his earpiece.

"So…I told you my name, cowboy." She leaned a little closer still.

"Oh! My-My name is George." He swallowed again as she sat on the seat right next to his, her knees brushing against his thigh. He looked down at the contact and saw she was wearing the typical little black dress. But this one seemed to be made out of satin or velvet or something altogether too sinful to ponder, so he turned away and itched his nose.

"Of the Jungle?" she teased, tilting her head so that her wavy hair fell in a ridiculously graceful fashion.

He let out a loud guffaw. "Oh I git it. That's—Good one, Miss Young. I never got that one before. I never—Gosh! It's hot in here, innit? I think maybe I should go into that back room back there," he stumbled, gesturing towards the room Sarah said she was following Jane into.

Kelly giggled and looked down shyly. "Ya know, you're pretty cute."

"Chuck, what are you doing?" Sarah asked. "Is someone flirting with you at the bar?"

"Yap!" Chuck said loudly, causing Kelly to jump a bit. "I mean, I, uh, I heard tell of my cuteness before. Actually, my wife—She says it all the time. I should get home to her, that reminds me." He began to scurry off the seat but her knee was suddenly positioned between his legs and she was quite nearly in his lap.

"I know you don't have a wife, George of the Jungle."

"Now how you know that?" he asked.

She shrugged and sat back, sipping her drink daintily. "Not wearin' a ring."

Chuck looked down at his left hand. "Well, I'll be a—" He glanced up and out at the dance floor. "This isn't good. My wife, she gonna kill me. Must have slipped off. Well, this is very bad. Really, very bad." He started to scramble to his feet as best he could, but she was rising with him, her hand curled into his jacket. "I better go find it. Buy a replacement or somethin'."

"George, come on," she said. "I'm not asking you to come home with me. Just have a nice drink with me. We can chat."

"A chat is nice and all, Miss Kelly Young, but I think I should go chat with my wife."

"Still doin' the wife thing, huh?" She shook her head with a pout, but pushed him back into his seat anyway. "Just drink your whiskey and maybe we'll talk about what happens after that chat.

The allure of Kelly Young was suddenly a little obvious to Chuck, and her charm had faded. He watched her sip her drink and thought of Sarah in the other room. He knew he was a sap, and she'd told him so numerous times since they'd first become partners, but he couldn't help but unfavorably compare this beguiling woman to his Sarah.

Distractedly, he looked towards the back room again. "You know, Kelly? It was nice to meet you and all…" He turned back to find her watching him with a soft smile. "But I have to go."

"Your wife?" she asked as he downed the rest of his second whiskey and climbed to his feet.

"That's right. My w—" He felt like he'd just climbed into the Gravitron. The room started spinning and he felt his knees buckle. "My wife," he muttered, despite his mouth feeling incredibly numb.

"Whoa, there. We got ourselves a lightweight, Harvey. I'll take care of him."

He felt her strong arms wrap around his shoulder as he was half carried towards the exit.

}o{

Sarah watched as the woman she was now convinced was Jane Cheetham wrapped her arms around a man's waist, letting him nuzzle into the side of her face. She lifted her hand up to idly tuck a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear and spoke into her bracelet. "Chuck, I think we've found our Jane. She's hanging on this guy, but I think you can charm her away. Just use your nerd speak."

She giggled to herself and moved a little closer. Oddly enough, he didn't respond. She'd vaguely heard him trying to scare off another woman at the bar by barking at her in a Texas accent.

It had been both cute and sad at the same time, but she'd stopped paying attention as their mark began making her rounds in the back room. "Chuck, did you hear me? Get in here, Piranha."

Nothing.

She frowned, looking over her shoulder at the doorway that led into the main room where she'd left him at the bar. "Chuck?"

He didn't respond.

She turned back to find Jane gyrating to the music with her beefy guy friend she'd just let maul her neck a few moments before. When the woman shimmied down to the ground, she lifted both of her arms over her head easily. Way too easily.

It was like someone had dumped a pitcher of ice water over her head. Fear spiked through her along with a kick of adrenaline. She moved towards the doorway. "Chuck?" she barked into her bracelet. "God damn it, Chuck."

"Move! Come on! Out of the way!" she snapped at people who stepped into her path. She quite nearly shoved a short balding man into his girlfriend when he accidentally tipped into the doorway that led to the main dance floor.

"Chuck, do you copy?" she yelled, weaving through the dancers. "Move out of my way!" she roared. "Shit!"

Sarah knew in her gut that whoever had been trying to romance Chuck at the bar had to be Jane Cheetham. They'd underestimated her. The whole thing was a feint.

She saw it clear as day now and she cursed loudly at herself, causing a feather-haired blonde dancing nearby to make a face at her. "Oh shut the fuck up with that face!" she barked angrily, finally getting to the front door of the bar.

She burst out into the cooler night air and looked up and down the street. Nothing. "Shit!"

Jane Cheetham must have wandered where she knew Gaup's men would spot her yesterday. Gaup had even said that she knew what his men looked like. Of course she would have known if they were following her, and she played them like a damned sonata.

The business card that she'd spat her gum into.

She knew they'd pick it up and feel good about themselves for being so clever.

And Jane knew Gaup would send somebody to the bar to deal with her.

She and Chuck had stumbled right into the trap, and now Jane had him, and Sarah had no idea where she could have taken him.

She had a flash of eight weeks ago when she swept into that suite and saw blood—Chuck's blood—on the floor. Tears gathered in her eyes and her heart tripped in her chest. Clutching at her stomach, she tore down the street and ignored the man in the cowboy hat who hollered, "Hey, you need help there, little lady?"

She didn't need help.

She just needed Chuck.

As Sarah rounded the corner into an alleyway, she spotted a black Cadillac Escalade wedged into it. A tall woman with jet black hair and a black dress had just slammed the back door shut and was hurrying to get into the driver's seat.

Unfortunately for her, she didn't make it that far.

A hand wrapped around her arm and tore her out of the SUV so that she toppled down to the ground.

"What the hell!" she screeched. The woman began climbing to her feet and disarmingly swung her leg out, catching the back of Sarah's knee so that she collapsed to the cement.

Sarah raised her arm to block the other long leg that swung around to kick her in the head. She locked her arm around Jane's leg and twisted, causing the other woman to cry out and fall to the ground again.

Jane's other foot slammed into Sarah's shoulder, the heel digging into her skin as she cried out and rocked back. Sarah used the momentum from the blow to roll backwards and flip herself to her feet, holding her shoulder. "If he's dead, I swear I'll kill you and your whole family," she just barely got out before a flying heel caught her in the corner of her lip.

Her head snapped back and she almost lost her footing again, but caught herself against the side of the van. She tasted blood as she righted herself, unable to stop the punch from her opponent as it slammed into her stomach.

Sarah spotted Jane's knee coming at her face and quickly grabbed the woman's thigh, shoving her backwards and causing her to land on her back. Sarah quickly sat on Jane's stomach to subdue her, wrapping a fist in her hair and punching her across the face twice before the the black hair came off in her hand.

She looked at it and tossed it away, then stopped immediately as she glanced down at the redhead sprawled beneath her, recognizing the furious face she hadn't quite gotten a good look at until now. "What the hell? Carina?"

* * *

**A/N: **Whoa.

I know, right?

Part 2 soon! Leave a nice review, though. Because I like dem.


	8. Con Game Texas, Part 2

**A/N: **I'm not going to mince pies with words, as my German second mother/nanny always says.

Let's just get down to the nitty-gritty.

Firstly, thanks again to **dettiot**. Secondly, thanks to every single one of you who read, read and reviewed, followed, favorited, sent me messages on tumblr. You're all so kind and nice and great. If I could dance for every single one of you...Well, you'd probably cry. Like...a bad cry.

Thirdly, **Disclaimer: **I don't own Chuck. Or Texas. Or a single country album.

And now...Enter Carina Miller.

* * *

**CON GAME TEXAS, Part 2**

A bony fist crashed into Sarah's jaw and she fell onto her back, wincing in pain as she blinked up at the sky.

"You deserved that, you bitch," she heard in an all too recognizable voice.

Sarah lifted her head and groaned, slowly pushing herself to sit, leaning on her wrists and curling her lip as best she could with the way it stung. "What are you doing here, Carina?"

"Hello to you, too, Walker." She winked, rubbing her shoulder with a groan and wincing. "Still got it, I see."

"Oh yeah? Well, you're a little rusty." Sarah clambered to her feet, a little wobbly on her heels.

"Still have a bug up your ass from the last time I kicked it, huh?" Carina moved to get up and stopped. "Not the bug. Your ass. Just to clarify."

Sarah snarled. "Very funny. Now tell me what you're doing here!"

"My God damn job." Carina finally got to her feet and studied the tear up the stitch of her dress. It showcased a good bit of her toned thigh and part of her lacy black underwear. "You fuckin' ruined my dress, you bitch," she whined, a glint in her eye that belied her amusement with the whole situation.

"What do you mean 'your job'?" Sarah asked, skirting over Carina's innate tendency to make a joke out of everything. She turned and gestured towards the Escalade. "Is my partner in this piece of shit?"

"Hey! That's far from a piece of shit, okay? It's an Escalade!" Carina stopped and blinked. "George of the Jungle is your partner?" She stopped again, putting her hand on her hip and flicking her red hair out of her face. "Wait, _you_ have a _partner_?"

Sarah grit her teeth and went to the back door. Unable to see inside through the heavily tinted windows, she put her hand on the door handle and made to open it, but Carina grabbed her and tugged her away.

"Nuh uh. No. Wait a tick, Blondie. What the hell are you doing working with this doofus?!"

Sarah tore her arm out of Carina's grip. "Is he dead?"

"What?!" Carina snapped. "Of _course_ he's not dead. I can't just buzz around killing guys just 'cause they're dumb asses." She shrugged a shoulder. "And he must be _some _kind of dumb ass with that outfit he was wearing."

Sarah bit her lip to keep from showing the relief flooding through her. It was so powerful it nearly knocked her onto her behind. "Yeah," she said once she'd regained her voice. "Yeah, he's my partner. And the outfit wasn't _so_ bad." She thought he looked good in navy blue and black, and Carina'd always had the worst taste.

"Shit! You're Wolf!" Carina got into a fighting stance as Sarah gaped, mimicking the woman just in case. "Oh, this is too damn much! You're working for that prick bastard!" She grit her teeth even while smirking. "Oh how the mighty have fallen, Walker. You're a hitman for a drug lord."

The disappointment in Carina's azure eyes couldn't be locked away fast enough and it almost made Sarah smile. Instead, she rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Original, Carina. Now will you open the door so that I can check my partner's vitals?"

"No! I should knock you out too and report you to the feds." Sarah felt a spike of fear shoot through her, even though she was mostly sure Carina wouldn't dare do that again after the last time.

Carina snorted. "And anyways, what do you care about him? Partner. Ha! I don't believe you. You're the worst team player in the history of team playing."

"Carina, let me in the damn car," Sarah growled through her teeth.

"Or what? You gonna kick my ass? We've gone down that road already, Walker, and who's the one with a jacked up face? Because it sure as shit ain't me," she chirped cockily.

"Why don't you take a peek in that side mirror, then, dumb ass?" Sarah answered just as cockily, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms over her chest. Her heart was trapped inside of the car with him. And until she could get inside and make sure Carina wasn't lying about him being alive, she'd be on pins and needles.

Carina squinted and looked in the mirror, seeing the purpling around her eye. "That's gonna hurt like a bitch. Damn it, Walker."

"Let me in the car!"

"Keep your bra on, Blondie," Carina said, rolling her eyes and moving to open the door.

"At least I _need _a bra," Sarah muttered childishly under her breath.

"Mature," came the answer as the door was swept open.

Unable to control herself, Sarah shoved Carina out of the way and leaned over Chuck, putting her fingers to his neck. It was reassuringly warm, and even more reassuring was the steady pulse she felt there.

Her back to Carina, she allowed her eyes to slip shut and she took a deep breath. Setting her mask once more, she turned back to Carina. "So…Jane Cheetham…"

Carina smirked. "We should probably have this little chat elsewhere. Say, not in an alleyway behind a liquor store…?"

"You're the dumb psycho who parked the van here."

"Smart ass. This is _not _a van," she corrected, reaching around Sarah to shut the door again. "It's barely an SUV. This baby's in a class on its own. Now climb in."

Sarah glared at Carina as the woman climbed back into the driver's seat.

Carina drove them in silence for a few minutes as Sarah fought to keep from looking back at Chuck to check on him.

If Carina noticed anything she seemed to be keeping quiet. How long that'd last was the real question.

"So. Spill." _Not long at all. _

"And what? Be carted off to jail?" Sarah scoffed. "No. No thanks. All you need to know is it's complicated." She shook her head with a sardonic smile, looking out of her window at the dark storefronts.

"I know complicated is your favorite word, Walker, but it's never gonna be a good enough answer. What the hell are you doing for Marty Gaup? Besides, you know, trying to kill me."

Sarah eyed Carina for a long moment, then made a decision based on years of experience with the DEA agent she'd met when they were both teenagers and in the same game.

"Look. If I tell you, you have to swear on your grandmother's grave you won't report us to the Feds."

"Hey!" A hand shot out and smacked Sarah in the shoulder. "You know how I felt about my Mormor."

"Exactly. I'm dead serious."

Carina just nodded, not taking her eyes off the road.

"We—my partner and I—were recruited by Gaup a few weeks ago. Not because we needed the work but because I found out about a piece of…Well, basically it's treasure."

Carina laughed. "I knew it! You're after that dumb elephant, aren't you?"

Sarah just rolled her eyes and looked away again. "What'd you use to drug my partner?"

"My charms." She sent a saucy look over her shoulder, her eyes sparkling with amusement in the dark as she turned down a dirt road. Sarah had a moment of panic in which she realized there was a possibility Carina might pull out a gun and shoot them both once she drove to the end of this desert road.

"Where the hell are you taking us?"

"DEA safe house."

Sarah spun on her, wide-eyed, her hand on the door handle. But it was useless. Even if she could escape, she'd never leave Chuck. Not for freedom. Not for any reason. Because none of it would matter if she left him behind, if he wasn't with her.

"Take a breath, Walker. No one knows about it and the DEA has no idea I'm using it right now," Carina was quick to reassure. "So who is this guy anyways?"

"I thought you would know better than me. Aren't you the one who has a bit of a history with him?"

"Wha—No! Not Marty. This one." She threw her thumb over her shoulder. "All I know is he goes by George of the Jungle and Piranha." And that was all Sarah _wanted _her to know.

"He's my partner. I told you."

"Seriously? We've established that little tidbit of information, Walker. He one of Marty's?"

"Of course not. I would have let you have him if he was." Sarah almost added "He's mine" but caught herself. It wouldn't do to let her filter slip in front of Carina. Not even the smallest bit. The woman would pounce on it like a starved tigress.

Sarah used the fact that they were discussing Chuck as an opportunity to turn and glance at him.

His face was down in the seat, his hair flopping all over and his arms crushed beneath him at awkward angles. She spared an extra moment looking for his hat. She liked him a lot in it, and she would be pissed if Carina lost it. She saw the black bill of the hat poking up from the floor in front of Chuck and inwardly celebrated. He probably wouldn't wear it in public anytime soon, but that didn't mean he wouldn't wear it…elsewhere. What was the song? Save a horse, r—

"So you want me to believe that _you_, Sarah Walker, lone ranger con bitch, _actually_ have a partner?" Carina interrupted that train of thought and Sarah glared at her, pretending the flush on her face was one of anger.

"Lone ranger con bitch? Really?" she groused back. Carina smirked and pulled the car up to the front of the house. "And yeah. I reached a point where I realized it'd be easier if I had some help. The one woman jobs are harder to come by these days. I pulled a job with him and—"

"You just _clicked_, huh?" Carina snerked.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "It's not like that."

She blanched at Carina's snort and opened her door as the car stopped, swinging her legs around and landing gracefully on the uneven gravel ground cover.

"So you're telling me this joker's your partner and you don't sleep with him," Carina asked, throwing a flat look at Sarah as she climbed out of her side of the Escalade. "That's why you took a partner, right? You needed to _get some_," she ground out, doing a particularly expressive hip thrust.

"No. I took a partner because it's easier to blend in as a couple. Not to mention he's good at the tech side of things—computers and repairs and stuff. He's the best hacker I've ever met. Your mind would be blown if you knew the things he's gotten into."

"I actually don't think I'd be all that surprised to find out what he's gotten…_into_."

Sarah didn't need to see the agent's face to know exactly what she meant. She was glad she was rounding the car so Carina couldn't see the blush before she slipped her mask over it.

Sarah met Carina on her side of the car and opened the door behind which Chuck still slept soundly. "Jesus, what'd you give him anyway?" she asked, leaning in to peer down at him.

"Um…He'll be fine. Just give him an hour and he'll come out of it. He might not feel his limbs for a little bit…"

Sarah's nerves spiked as she spun to look at Carina. "What the hell? Did you paralyze him?"

"No! He'll be fine in awhile. I'm not _you_, you know." Sarah clenched her jaw. "I didn't know this guy's story. Only that he was a new recruit of Marty's and I thought I'd knock him out and kidnap him when I recognized him as Piranha at the club. Ask questions. Routine stuff."

"So what's the deal with the DEA and Gaup, anyways?" Sarah asked, climbing into the car and grabbing Chuck by his ankles. Carina just stood by, idly watching. "Would you help me out a little?" Sarah half-snapped.

"Geez, Walker. Got your panties in a bunch much? When's the last time you got laid?" Carina muttered, then took Chuck by his shoulders. Together, they eased him out of the Escalade, carrying him over to the front door of the safe house.

Sarah almost snapped, "About four hours ago, thanks" but once again, she caught herself.

When they gently set him down on the front porch to give Carina time to unlock the front door, Carina answered. "Look, I can't give you too many details, but what do you _think _the DEA wants with him? He's a drug smuggler, drug lord…call him what you want, but I'm gonna nab the bastard for all the shit he's been getting away with."

Sarah smiled. "So he's the one that got away, huh?"

Carina stood up and popped the door open, making a sincerely disgusted face. "Ugh! No fucking way! You think I'd ever let that guy touch me? Let alone stick his—"

"Okay, I get it," Sarah rushed. Carina sent her a 'you're a prude' look that Sarah recognized well from the time she'd spent with the DEA agent in the past. "I wasn't talking about a relationship. You tried to get him on criminal charges before and couldn't, am I right?"

They picked Chuck up again and walked in. Sarah kicked the door shut behind her with her heel. Carina jerked her head to the side. "Over here on the table."

"Do you have a couch or a bed or something?"

"What do you wanna bed for, Walker? You gonna wait for me to go out and gather firewood so you can swing on George of the Jungle's vine?"

Sarah did a double take. "What the fuck is even wrong with you, Miller? And what does that m—Oh. God, you're _so weird_. And where'd George of the Jungle even come from?"

"He introduced himself as George."

"So you immediately go to George of the Jungle. Logical."

"Hey, he seemed like the type of idiot that'd go for that."

Sarah inwardly wondered if he had. Although he seemed like more of a Tarzan fan. Or something else altogether. Like…a space version of Tarzan. She cursed herself for letting herself get lost in Chuck's nerdisms and straightened his arms beside his torso. They'd put him on his stomach again. And while it was probably better to have him on his back, Chuck was pretty heavy for being such a skinny guy. And she didn't really want to bother.

"Continue," Sarah demanded, struggling to get Chuck's jacket off of him.

"Already taking his clothes off, I see."

Sarah just glared, not warranting the sassy comment with one of her own as she shrugged the jacket on and pulled it tight around her. "We're in the desert. It gets cold at night. And this drafty-ass dump isn't helping. He won't miss the jacket."

"Mm, sure. Or you wear his clothes all the time and just don't wanna admit it. Come on, Walker. What have you got to lose if you just tell me the truth? You guys are boinking."

"We're _not…_boinking. Where the hell do you get these things?"

"My brain."

"Will you continue, _please_?"

"Fine, fine. There was a protocol I sort of skirted over during the whole arresting process. It's a bitch to explain. But his dirty lawyer got him off with barely a slap on the wrist and he hopped the border into Mexico to spend some time at his villa there until it blew over. But I never gave up on the bastard."

"Why are your bosses keeping you on the case after all of that crap?"

Carina was silent, leaning against the table and resting her hand on Chuck's ankle. Sarah knew by the way the other woman was looking at her through her lashes that she was trying to see if the action bothered her at all.

She kept her mask firmly in place and met Carina's azure gaze. A thought occurred to her at the other woman's reluctance to answer. "Oh my God! They aren't! You're doing a solo mission without the approval of your superiors! Wooow, Miller. _That's _why you aren't reporting us to the Feds like you tried to the last time the two of us met." She glared.

"Mitigating circumstances."

"You were just pissed I got the jump on your FBI boyfriend and he was so upset he broke up with you."

"I broke up with _him_, okay? He was a douchetard and lousy in the sack."

Sarah let out a genuine laugh and crossed her arms over her chest. She'd forgotten how fun it was to chat with Carina…or a girl in general. Chuck was…well, he was Chuck. And she loved him. He was her everything. No one in the entire world made her feel more comfortable. But he wasn't too great at girl talk.

He once called her bra a brassiere and she had no one she could have called and giggled about it to. No one to tell about Chuck's habits that were equal parts adorable and odd. No one to complain about PMS cramps with. No one to talk guns with. Chuck was the worst at gun knowledge—she had to threaten him to get him to even hold a gun for his safety during missions, and finally relented and bought him an array of tranq pistols after a few months of their heated arguments.

"So…you came back to pin something on Gaup, then."

"Right." Her hand slid up to the back of Chuck's knee and Sarah blanched inwardly, keeping her eyes on Carina rather than where the woman was resting her hand. "Well, he has to slip sometime. And I mean to be around when he does. I figured if he knew I was here, he'd flip his shit and make a mistake."

"Then you'd move in for the kill."

"You got it, Blondie." Her hand slid up even further and Sarah rolled her eyes.

"Meanwhile, you think you're pissing me off, but in actuality you're not. But you _are_ sexually harassing my partner."

"I am _not. _He doesn't know."

"This is what frat boys say about raping unconscious girls at college parties."

Carina pulled her hand away and made a grossed out face. "Point taken. You know, I only saw him from the front before, but he's not so bad from the back. If you're not doing anything with him, maybe you can go out and gather the firewood. I'll wake him up, alright."

She winked and Sarah laughed, shaking her head. "Keep it in your pants for two minutes, Carina, and tell me how you knew who we were."

"You mean how I recognized Piranha over here? Besides the fact that he was a cute dope sitting at the bar alone, eyeing every tall, pretty girl in the place like he was looking for me?" She smirked. "Come on, Walker. I can pick out a hitman in a crowd."

Carina had no idea how wrong she was about Chuck being a hitman, Sarah mused, but she just shrugged and moved across the room to the small fridge in the corner. She opened it and found bottled water sitting inside. "Working fridge! DEA springing to keep this place running?"

"Nope. _I'm _springing. Don't delve into the details and toss me one of those cold bitches, will ya?"

Sarah snerked at her phrasing and threw her a water bottle. "And what if he wasn't Piranha? What if he was just a lost, married Texan looking for a night of fun when a pathetically desperate woman threw herself at him?"

"I didn't throw myself at him. You weren't even in the room!"

"Sure, uh huh. I didn't have to be in the room to know you threw yourself at him."

"Yeah well, to no effect. He stuttered like a schoolboy and his ears turned red and he downed two glasses of whiskey, yet I still had to drug him to get him to—" Her eyes widened and she pointed. "Oh! I get it now." She smirked knowingly.

"What? Get what?" Sarah took a deep swig of her water bottle, ignoring the panic that began to rise in her chest.

"He's gay!"

Sarah laughed. "No, he isn't."

"Then you're screwing each other brainless!"

"Oh wow, Carina. How original. A guy isn't into you so he's either gay or has a girlfriend."

"I said nothing about him having a girlfriend. _You _said that. Not me. Holy shit! You kids are dating!"

"What?" She rolled her eyes. "We're not dating," she answered calmly, proud of herself for selling it so well. She took another swig. "And he's not gay."

"How would you know that if you guys aren't sleeping together?"

"Will you just drop it already? We're not together. He's not gay. Maybe you're just not his type."

Carina scoffed. "Yeah, 'cause you _are_. Which means he's blind, too, the poor dope."

Sarah sighed and looked at the ceiling, letting out a low groan. "Carinaaaa."

"Okay, okay," she laughed. "I'll stop. For now." She paused and crossed the room, pulling up two old wooden chairs with faded cushions on the seats. "Do you realize how easy it was for me to draw Gaup into my trap, though? I wish I'd done it sooner."

"Simple. You made a feint. You let yourself get spotted by his men, gave them a subtle hint as to where you were gonna be, and struck before Gaup's hired assassins could."

"Well done, Walker," Carina drawled, nudging her with her heeled toe. "That's exactly what I did. They fell for it hook, line, and sinker."

"Yeah, so did we. For a little while." She made a face and conceded to the self-satisfied look on Carina's pretty face. "Well played, Special Agent Miller."

"Thanks. Now here's the real question. Why the _hell _did you feel the need to go after me when Gaup gave you the kill order, you freaking jerk? I thought we were friends."

"We've kicked each other's asses enough times to consider each other friends, you think?"

"Maybe one more time for good measure." Carina tossed her empty water bottle at Sarah's head and the con woman batted it away easily, laughing.

"I had no idea it would be you. He kept going on and on about the beguiling bitch and how he said if you ever came back here, he'd have you killed. Matter of fact, he knew quite a bit about you, it seemed. And that was just the stuff he saw fit to tell us. You better watch your back, ginger." The thought of all of those pictures in the folder back at the hotel room sent a shiver down her spine. How long had Gaup been watching Carina? How much did he know about her?

She heard a groan from the table and jerked her head eagerly towards Chuck before she could stop herself. If Carina noticed, she didn't mention it, but Sarah was quick to school her features anyway. Letting Carina in on something this personal seemed somehow…dangerous. She was about eighty percent sure Carina wouldn't use Sarah's intimate attachment to Chuck against her. But he was too important to take any chances.

Before she could even stand up from her chair, Carina was at Chuck's side, peering down at him. She helped him turn over onto his back and he blinked up at her. "S—Whoa, no! You're not—Oh, crap. Not again."

"Again? Does this happen to you often?" Carina asked, smirking over her shoulder at Sarah who merely rolled her eyes.

She moved to Chuck's side and shoved Carina away. "Hi, Chuck."

His features melted and Sarah was reminded of her _friend_'s insistence that he'd resisted her blatant invitation at the club. That plus the relieved warmth in his eyes almost made her give up the charade and gather him up in her arms. At least he wasn't stabbed this time.

She quickly gave him the follow-my-lead look he knew very well and he nodded minutely.

Chuck had no idea what had transpired, but somehow Sarah was in the same room with his abductor. She wasn't restrained. Nor was he, for that matter. Then why did he feel like he was? "W-What's wrong with my—"

"Sorry, George. Oh wait…he's Chuck. You just called him Chuck. Chuck, huh? What kind of name is Chuck?" Carina snarked, leaning over him so that he didn't have to strain his eyes to look at her. "Like I was saying, _Chuck_," she laughed as she said it and he made a chagrined face, "you're gonna be fine once the drug wears off. Just a little heaviness in your limbs. Not a big deal."

"Who are you? Sarah, who is she?"

His girlfriend moved into his vision and leaned against the table. "She's Carina Miller. She's a DEA agent. And don't freak out."

_Don't freak out?! _He wanted to sit up and shake her. A DEA agent! And they were here alone with her and she probably had so many guns and they were done. This was it, he knew it. She'd call the Feds and they'd pick the two of them up and he'd never see Sarah again…

"Chuck, didn't I _just _say don't freak out? And here you are freaking out."

"I-I'm not freaking out."

"Your eyes are darting all over the place, so yeah. Yeah, you are. Chill. Carina and I go way back."

Chuck could move his head now, and his fingers, he realized. "You're friends with a DEA agent?"

Carina repeatedly tapped idly at his foot, which he was starting to feel and it was really annoying. "Yeah, Chuckie. We kick each other's asses on occasion, which is basically the same thing."

"The same—Stop that! Leave my foot alone, for God's sake!"

"He's a bit of a grandma, isn't he?" Carina asked.

"Wha—Excuse me! If I'm a grandma, I'm an extremely manly grandma. A'thank you. Oh…oh hello feet. There are my feet. That's nice." He grinned, enjoying the tingles rocketing through his legs. It reminded him of how he felt when he and Sarah—Well, he'd think about that in a more prudent setting.

He wanted to reach up and take Sarah's hand since it hung limply only two inches away from his. But something in the way she was being so standoffish told him there was something important behind it. So he held off, just in case.

His assumption was that Sarah didn't want Carina to know they were together. And if that was the case, he'd play along. Maybe there was a reason Sarah couldn't trust Carina fully, and he wasn't about to risk it if she wasn't.

Finally, he regained enough strength to sit up with Sarah's help, and they both embraced this reason to be in close contact, even if only for a short amount of time.

Sarah had to bite back a smile when she felt Chuck's thumb stroke the skin on the small of her back, out of sight of Carina, just before he turned to swing his legs around to dangle over the side of the table.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"A safe house," Carina answered easily.

"And what exactly makes a house 'safe'?"

Sarah ignored the comment and interjected. "Carina is Jane Cheetham, Chuck."

He gave her a flat look. "Ya think? I kind of had that one figured out right before I lost consciousness while she was trying to stuff me in her van."

"It's an Escalade."

"Okay. And Volvo is a sports car," he snerked. "So why the hell did Gaup want us to kill a DEA agent?"

Carina narrowed her eyes. "Hmm, why would a drug smuggler want a DEA agent killed?"

"Sarcasm, huh? You were cuter when you were trying to get in my pants." He hopped off the table jauntily and his knees almost buckled, but he grabbed the table just in time and kept himself upright.

Carina gaped. "Wow, Walker. You picked yourself a sassy mate."

"Mate?" Chuck asked. "You mean…us?" He gestured between himself and Sarah. "Uh, no. No."

Sarah shrugged. "Told you."

Carina rolled her eyes and huffed in frustration. "Let's get the show on the road here, huh? Our impromptu reunion aside, Walker, we've got ourselves in a real jam here. You two need me dead and I need actual evidence of Gaup's illegal dealings."

"I should think that'd be pretty simple," Chuck said with a shrug.

"Oh yeah?" Carina asked, crossing her arms dubiously.

"Gaup put a hit on you. I've only been a criminal for a couple of years, so don't go by me, but I'm pretty sure that's illegal. Really illegal." He flexed his hands and toes, feeling almost back to normal now that the drug had worn off.

"It's illegal, Chuck, but we can't help Carina. We'll be identified if we testify. We'll go to prison."

Chuck's face fell a little. "Oh."

"Which is exactly what I was going to do had Wolf and Piranha not been my old friend Walker and her tech-jerk partner Chuckie," Carina groused, flipping her hair out of her face.

"If he thinks you're dead for awhile, that might buy us time," Chuck said, meeting Sarah's gaze for a second, before looking back at the DEA agent. "And he might get cocky, be a little less careful. You can nab him when he slips."

Carina raised an eyebrow. "And what? You and Walker go right back to work for Marty Gaup? One, that's dangerous for you if he finds out I'm not dead. And two, what are you gonna do when he gives you another kill order? You can't keep running around setting people free who your bastard boss orders you to kill. His next victims will be you two."

Sarah shook her head. "Carina's right, Chuck. It's too dangerous for all of us. Gaup is smarter than that. Sure, we could take a picture of Carina covered in ketchup and call it a day, but he'd ask questions. What'd we do with the body? Where's her identification? Her badge? And then what?" She ran a hand through her soft curls and nibbled at her lip. "No, we need to stall for time. We need to go to him and tell him we couldn't get the job done yet. We got to the club and she wasn't there. We waited for hours, even scoped the place from the outside. Jane never showed up."

"And what if he doesn't believe us?" Chuck asked. "He'll have his guys drag us out back and shoot us!"

"Wow," Carina said flatly. "Walker, this guy has enough balls for the both of you, huh?"

Chuck curled his lip at her. "If you think I'm afraid of dying, then you're right. I am. I am afraid of dying. I think you're an idiot if you're not." He paused. "Or lying."

"The man makes a good point," Carina shrugged.

"I guess we just have to sell it," Sarah said matter-of-factly. Even though she shared Chuck's fears, she knew they could pull it off. She'd seen Chuck's bluffing when it was at its worst and its best. Even his worst was damn good. And she had every confidence in her own capabilities.

Chuck looked into her eyes and his features hardened in determination. He gave her a short nod and looked at the ground beneath his feet. "And in the meantime, how do we fix Carina's predicament?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "We've been thinking in circles this entire time when it's been right in front of us."

"You can't just tell us instead of making us feel like idiots?" Carina groused, raising an eyebrow.

Sarah sent her a look and continued as though she'd never interrupted. "Carina, you were going to kidnap Piranha and force him to tell you about Gaup's 'business'," she said, throwing up bunny ears with her fingers. "So that you would finally have something solid to base an arrest on, right?"

"Yeah…?"

"Well, here we are." She gestured to herself and Chuck, moving over to stand next to him and lean against the table at his side. She surreptitiously laid her hand over his behind their backs, out of Carina's sight, and felt him flip his hand and curl his fingers around hers for a moment.

"So…?"

"Carina, in Chuck and I you have something even better than a newly recruited drug smuggling henchman. You have willing turncoats with no loyalty at all to Marty Gaup or his operation. We've been working for ol' Marty for, what…almost three weeks now?" she asked her partner.

He nodded once.

"Right, three weeks," she continued. "And since we had a reason to be there that included stealing something right from under his nose, we've taken inventory on every door, every nook, every tree and bush, and every guard on the villa grounds. Not to mention, Chuck drew a diagram. _And _we know every man in his chain of command."

A slow smirk grew on Carina's face as she crossed her arms and sauntered closer to the couple. Sarah slowly pulled her hand away from Chuck's just in case. "I always manage to underestimate you."

"It's a perk of our friendship," Sarah snarked.

With a snort, Carina turned her gaze onto Chuck. "So, Chuckie…where's this diagram?"

"Our hotel room."

Sarah almost shut her eyes in annoyance, knowing what was coming.

"You two share a hotel room?" Carina asked, eyes wide. "I knew it! You two are totally sleeping together." Sarah opened her mouth but Carina waved her off. "Nope. No. I'm not listening to your lies, Walker. I know the truth now." She stopped. "But I have to say, I don't see it."

"Shut up, Carina."

"Don't see what?"

Sarah and Chuck had spoken up at the same time, their voices melding together so that Carina looked like she was about to throw her head back and guffaw. Instead, she bit her lip, her eyes shining brightly. The gig was up, Sarah knew. But she wasn't going to admit it.

And there'd always be that pebble of doubt sitting in the back of Carina's mind.

Maybe it was childish, but Sarah liked the idea of it.

"I don't see you two together for some reason. Maybe it's because I think you're just so damn cute, Chuckie." She winked at him and reached up to finger a curl that had fallen over his forehead.

Sarah knew that this sort of exhibition was going to increase tenfold now that Chuck had slipped.

"Yeah, well…you're wrong," Chuck tried.

"About you being cute?" Carina demurred.

"W-Oh. No. I _am_ pretty damn cute. But I was talking about me and Walker. We're not together." Sarah found it sweet that he was still trying, but he didn't know Carina like she did. "We're posing as a couple. A team, I mean. And a couple in public. Because it's a good cover. That's the whole point of us being partners in the first place. What kind of couple has separate rooms?"

"My point exactly," Carina smirked, leaning close. She stayed with her face two inches away from Chuck, staring him down until he became visibly uncomfortable and started squirming a little. When she'd had enough, she chuckled and pulled back, walking to the fridge. "Anybody want some fresh fruit?"

When they both shook their heads, she shrugged and pulled a banana out, shutting the door again and leaning back against it. "So. You guys know the inner workings of Gaup's operation, but I can't arrest him based off of your statements. Unless you feel like turning yourselves in to the Feebs."

With a quick flick of her wrist, Carina snapped the stem of the banana and licked her finger before peeling it slowly.

Sarah rolled her eyes and fought the urge to peek at Chuck. "No, we can't be the ones to squeal on Gaup because we're God damn con artists who are wanted in half the states, not to mention a dozen other countries around the world. But we can tell you who _would _squeal."

Chuck turned to look at Sarah and bit back a proud grin. It wasn't a secret that Sarah had a real flair for planning a good deal of their cons, but there were still moments when he thought her brain was the sexiest part of her. This was one of them. He turned back to Carina, brimming with satisfaction that the brilliantly cunning woman standing beside him was romantically attracted to him. _Take _that,_ high school!_

"We'll do better than that," he inserted. "We'll lead him right to your doorstep."

Sarah shot him a look that said "We will?" and he studiously ignored it. He didn't know how they'd do it. But Carina was a DEA agent. She worked for the government. And even though he knew Sarah had some sort of past history with her, and they claimed they were friends (although the dried blood next to Sarah's lip and Carina's black eye were dubious), the reward for turning in two highly sought after con artists could potentially be legitimately seductive. Anything they could do to make Carina a little happier with them would make the possibility of her turning them in that much unlikelier.

Carina broke a small piece off the tip of the banana and popped it in her mouth, chewing slowly. "You'd lead him to me? Who is he?"

Chuck and Sarah's gazes met. They both knew who it was without having to speak. Chuck turned back to Carina. "His name is Raph Lorenzo. He's one of Gaup's top advisors."

"Top advisor?" she asked, inserting another piece she'd broken off with her fingers into her mouth. "Wouldn't that mean he's gonna be less friendly to the idea of turning on his boss?"

"Nope," Sarah chirped. "He was press-ganged into helping Gaup a decade ago. Since then he's risen in the ranks, but he has a family. A family he'll want protected. And if the DEA can promise him that, I'm sure he'd be willing to do just about anything for you."

As she continued to eat, a look that resembled the cat who got the cream slipped onto the pretty young woman's features. "Boy, you two really are good. Okay. I'll bite. So what's the catch, then?"

"Catch?" Chuck asked, looking at Sarah. "Is—Is there a catch?"

Sarah scrunched her mouth to the side and gave a one shoulder shrug. "A little one." She paused, biting her lip. "He'll be a bitch to get to. He's probably even less accessible than Gaup himself."

"But you guys can get him, right?"

"We can get him. We'll need time to plan but we can get him," Sarah answered with confidence. "Chuck and I need to get back to the hotel. We can't risk you being seen driving us so we'll need to call a taxi." She slid away from Chuck and walked to the door. "I'm gonna make the call and have them pick us up at the end of the road."

Sarah walked to the corner of the room and pulled out her phone, swiping the lock and clicking around for a little while before she lifted the phone to her ear and turned away.

Chuck was so caught up in watching Sarah, his nerves about the rest of the time they'd be spending in Laredo at the forefront of his mind, that he didn't notice Carina slink up to his side. He almost jumped.

"So you and Walker, huh?" She slipped the rest of the banana past her lips and dropped the empty peel onto the table.

"There's no me and Walker. At least not in the way you're insinuating."

She snorted. "That's bull. All I wanna know is what you did to get under her skin."

"I'm not under her skin, and that's actually a gross image. I wish it would go away. And you with it."

"That's not very nice, Chuckie. I'm Sarah's only friend in the whole world, you know. I think I deserve to know how a derpy kid like you has what it takes to break Sarah Walker."

"I haven't _broken_ her, a'thank you. We're just partners."

"Not even Bryce could do that."

"Ha. Look, lady. You got it all wrong. Sarah and I aren't romantically…involved. There's no involvement at all except that we respect each other because we're partners."

Carina was suddenly in front of him, her hand grasping his face in a tight grip and smashing his lips into a strange amoeba shape. "You hurt her and I'll kill you. Got that?"

Chuck had nothing to say to that, so he just nodded. He was oddly relieved by the fact that Carina had just threatened to kill him if he hurt Sarah. It meant Sarah had someone else who cared about her, in case anything ever happened to him.

The DEA agent stepped back and let go of his face, her finger zooming up to poke him in the forehead as she ground out a dangerous, "Good."

Sarah walked back to them and tilted her head in curiosity at what she'd just seen from the corner. "Taxi will be here in ten. It'll take about that much time to get out to the street. Let's go, Chuck."

They walked to the front door and Chuck made to open it, when Carina stopped them.

"Hey, wait. So what do I do? Just wait here until you guys show up again? I don't like this."

Sarah shrugged. "Beggars can't be choosers, Special Agent Miller. We'll stall for time with Gaup and attempt to lure Raph Lorenzo to you. I've got your number." Sarah pulled a cell out of Chuck's suit jacket which still adorned her upper half and tossed it in the air, catching it again.

"That's my phone, you bitch."

"Isn't it just. Here." She threw it underhand to Carina who caught it easily, an amused glint in her eye. "Call you tomorrow."

"If you're still alive," Carina shot out before the door slammed shut behind them.

* * *

**A/N: **Carina Miller. Cannot be tamed.

Click that awesome review button, please? Thank you.

And good luck. (evil laughter)


	9. Con Game Texas, Part 3

**A/N: **At long last! Part 3 is here! Sorry it took forever. It's just that I was having a lot of trouble with this part. BUT TROUBLE NO MORE!

Thanks again to **dettiot **for her invaluable ear. Her ear is golden. As is her brain. She gets me out of tight spots a lot. She has a golden crowbar that...Never mind. I made you lot wait long enough.

So without further ado, part 3.

Oh wait, **Disclaimer** I own absolutely nothing at all. And I especially don't own Chuck. Happy? (grumbles)

* * *

**CON GAME TEXAS, Part 3**

"Do I look like Carina even a little?" Chuck heard Sarah ask over the comm. "Because I honestly don't know if this will work, Chuck."

"It'll work," he said into his polo collar. "Remember what Carina said? Lorenzo hasn't seen her up close, only in blurry photos like the ones Gaup gave us."

"Just think of it this way, Walker," came the snappy reply from the DEA agent who refused to be kept out of the loop. "No matter what you do, this ass will always be hotter than that ass."

"Really, Carina? Really?" came Sarah's annoyed reply. "That's all you've got for me?"

"Yeah, well, it's hot and stuffy in here and my brain isn't working. When I'm breathing fresh air, I'm a little more eloquent."

"Maybe I should ship you off to Hong Kong. We wouldn't hear a peep out of you again." Sarah snorted over the comm. "Hear that, Miller? _That _was a good one. If I do say so myself."

"Oh God," Carina groaned. "I'm about to turn my earpiece off."

Chuck rolled his eyes at their bickering, looking over his shoulder and spotting the middle aged drug smuggler holding a tray of food, moving through the shopping mall crowd—a sea of cowboy hats. (And he'd thought that was just a stereotype.)

"Maybe we should stay on task?" he interrupted. "And I can't believe I just said that."

"Neither can I," came Sarah's amused reply. "Chuck, I have eyes on you. Look towards the frozen yogurt stand."

He glanced away from Raph Lorenzo for a moment and eyed the frozen yogurt stand near the escalators. He recognized Sarah immediately in her long, black wig and large glasses. She dressed in some of Carina's clothes and wore heels, making her look slightly out of place in a Laredo shopping mall. But then again, no matter what Sarah wore or where she was, she'd always be a little out of place. Even at the Victoria's Secret fashion show, where hot women were a dime a dozen.

"I got ya," he answered, quickly looking back at Lorenzo. The man was stuffing his face with a calzone, completely oblivious to anything and everything save the melted cheese and spinach spilling out of the flaky crust.

"I'm ready when you are," he heard Sarah say.

Taking a deep breath, he swept further into the food court and approached Lorenzo from behind. "It's go time," he murmured, going to the table directly behind his mark and plopped down in the chair that pressed against the back of Raph's.

"Raph, you're in danger." The man jumped when he heard Chuck's harsh whisper.

"What the—Jesus, I got grease on my new shirt, you ass hole." Raph began to turn but Chuck whipped around and grabbed his shoulders.

"No, no! Don't move. It's me, Piranha, the boss' new hire. He sent me here to look after you. And that's what I've been doing. But you're in danger."

"Piranha? How the fuck do I know that if I'm not allowed to turn around?"

"It's the girl the boss sent us after. Jane Cheetham. She's here. She has been following you for an hour. I've been keeping my eye on her."

Raph turned to look at Chuck, eyes wide. "She's here? What's she want with me? I ain't Marty. She don't have a bone to pick with me."

"She's watching, you damn fool! Turn around!"

Raph spun back to his table quickly. Chuck could hear him swallow thickly. "You don't look like Piranha. The guy had a beard."

"So I shaved. It's been known to happen," he snapped. "And anyways, I'm trying to keep her from knowing I work for the boss."

He felt more than saw Raph nod.

"Now, look," Chuck continued. "We gotta get outta here fast. But you have to trust me. And listen to me. You got it?"

"The boss sent you?"

"Yes, damn it!"

"Alright, alright. Where is she? She's watching now?"

"If you look over your left shoulder towards the frozen yogurt stand…South. Your eight o'clock. She's got a black wig on. Glasses. Cute outfit."

"Thanks, Chuck," Carina chirped. He ignored her as Raph slowly swept around and idiotically pretended to fix the nonexistent cuff on his jeans. Chuck resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he watched the pathetic maneuver. And this was the man Gaup trusted with details of his illegal organization? It had all the marks of a man thinking he was untouchable, especially with the way Carina had failed at taking him out the first time.

Chuck was pretty sure Gaup wasn't getting away this time. But first he had to get him out to the car. He turned back to Raph. "You see her?"

"Yeah. That's her, alright."

"Damn it, man. I know that. Didn't I tell you?" Chuck paused. "I'm going to get up right now and walk towards Bath & Body Works."

Chuck took a long slurp out of his smoothie, clearing the last bit of it from the cup and burping a little. "I'm gonna throw this away. When you see me put it in the trash, you get up and you walk towards the north exit. I'm gonna be right behind you. She's gonna follow, which is why we're gonna need to lose her. You leave the rest of that to me. Just follow my orders. Got it?"

"Y-Yeah. Yeah, I got it." The man's fear was seeping off of him. It was just as Chuck and Sarah had predicted. The man was prone to nervousness. Put him in a dangerous situation and he'd be like putty in their hands. Carina wouldn't haven a hard time getting details of Gaup's illegal dealings out of him. Especially when Lorenzo's family's safety was on the line.

"Alright, then. I'm gonna get you out of here and home to your wife and kids. Trust me, Raph."

"I-I-Okay. Okay, Piranha."

"Right." Chuck climbed to his feet and paused near Raph's table as he swept past, just for a second. "Oh, and uh…Walk don't run."

With that, he weaved through the salmon-like stream of shoppers towards the Bath & Body Works. He made a bit of a show, glancing over his shoulder towards Sarah.

"You got him, Chuck," she said, smirking.

"Not yet I haven't. Need to amp it up a bit. Wish me luck."

"Best of luck, Chuck," Carina interjected over Sarah. "And for fuck's sake. Hurry it up. It's hot in here."

He rolled his eyes and tossed the cup into the trash. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Raph hurry from his seat, leaving his calzone and soda on the table and walking quickly in the direction Chuck had advised him.

"Litterbug," Sarah groused into the comm. "More reason to punk his ass."

Chuck snorted and followed Raph. "Commence punking. Sarah, you're on."

"Affirmative."

Hurrying his pace a little, Chuck caught up to Raph and hung back a few feet. The man looked over his shoulder, his eyes wide. A patch of sweat began to appear on his upper back through the light green dress shirt he wore. They met gazes and Chuck nodded reassuringly.

Then his eyes flicked up to something over Raph's shoulder and he cursed, surging forward and grabbing the man by his arm, tugging him to the left. "She is trying to cut us off."

"What?!"

Both men looked behind to see Jane Cheetham walking calmly but quickly after them, having come out of nowhere from the east section of the mall. "Shit! Piranha, what do we do?" Raph whimpered.

"Walk faster."

They rushed around the rest of the shoppers until Chuck could pull Raph Lorenzo out of the store and into the mid-afternoon Laredo heat. "The car is on the north side of the building so we have to make our way around. You go and I'll see if I can't cut her off and take her out."

With a nod, Raph rushed towards the north, pressing himself as close to the building as possible. Chuck stepped back into the shopping mall and saw Sarah step out of the women's bathroom, the black wig and glasses gone, the short jacket she'd worn shirked and a pair of flats on her feet. She winked at him and turned away, blending into the crowd of the shoppers as he grinned widely at the back of her head.

God, he was in love with that wink. And the woman behind the wink.

"Carina, you ready?"

"Fuck! I've been!" she complained. "I've lost the ability to breathe!"

"We're almost done," Sarah reassured. "I'll meet you two at the safe house."

"Be careful," Chuck said as he stepped back outside and followed Raph's footsteps.

Carina scoffed audibly.

Chuck finally rounded the north side of the building and moved towards the entrance. Raph was literally in the planter near the door, crouched behind a potted cactus. For a man who wasn't necessarily the thinnest guy Chuck had ever seen, it seemed like a pretty desperate attempt at camouflage.

"Come on," he said, reaching up and helping the older man out of the planter. "I threw her off the scene for a bit. Called in reinforcements. But we have to get out of here."

"Where?"

"A safe house."

"Not the villa?"

Chuck strode towards a brown 1982 Impala coupe Sarah had found that morning in a Wal-Mart parking lot. She'd hot wired it and driven it back to the safe house with Chuck following in Carina's Escalade. It had been a trial getting the DEA agent to let him drive her car. But allowing Carina in public wasn't the smartest idea. Even she had to admit, and she seemed to be an incredibly impetuous individual.

"No, not the villa."

"Why not?"

Chuck opened the driver's side and started the car, reaching across to unlock the passenger door so that Raph could climb in. "I don't know, Raph. Marty's orders."

Just as Marty clicked his seatbelt into place, Carina surged up from her spot on the floor of the backseat and slid her hands around Raph's face, holding a cloth with ammonia against his nose and mouth. "Hello Raph baby," she said in a creepily silky voice.

He struggled for a few moments and slumped to the side, knocking his forehead on the window.

Chuck winced and put his seatbelt on, pulling out of the parking space and driving down the rows of cars towards the exit onto the street.

"So there's a reason why they say not to lock your pets in the car. That was the _worst_ twenty minutes of my whole God damn life."

"You could have cracked a window."

"I _did_, smart ass. It was still hotter than hell in here."

"Well, you would know."

"Heh. I don't know why I like you." She lightly smacked the back of his head while taking her earpiece out. He followed suit and dropped it onto the console between his seat and the one Raph Lorenzo now occupied.

As he pulled out onto the main road, his cell rang in his pocket. He slipped it out and saw a picture of Sarah on the screen. She was snuggled up with her chin on a pillow, her bare arms wrapped around it, her eyes narrowed but her small smile belying any annoyance she'd had with him the moment he'd taken the picture.

"Uhhh…anybody ever tell you not to use your phone while driving?" Carina asked from behind him.

"Uhhh…I steal things for a living," he mimicked, screwing up his face mockingly as he glanced at her over his shoulder. "I'm not getting busted by the Laredo Police Department for using my phone while driving."

"This is a safety issue."

"I've also been shot at while driving a car. And way, _way _more distracting things to boot. So…" He blushed when he saw her gape in the rearview mirror. That hadn't been what he'd meant. He opened his mouth to say as much but was interrupted when she slapped his shoulder.

"Has Sarah really done that? Holy shit! While you were driving?" she quite nearly screeched.

"What are you—? Ew! You have a dirty, _dirty _mind! Seriously. And by the way, this is the last time I'll say it. Me and Sarah aren't…" He picked up his phone and glanced at the text.

_Raph in the car?_

He replied in the affirmative and suddenly his phone was ringing and the picture of Sarah appeared again. He surreptitiously glanced over his shoulder to make sure Carina didn't see the picture but she was still too caught up in her own gutter-drenched thoughts. Then he answered. "Yeah, Wolf?"

She let out an amused huff. "On the way to the safe house then, _Piranha_?"

"Fifteen minutes out. Raphael is sleeping like a baby."

"Good. I'm headed up to our hotel room right now to grab our bags. So I'll see you in twentyish minutes. Just sit tight and wait for me at the safe house."

"I know, I know."

"Carina is listening intently, isn't she?"

"Mhm."

Sarah sighed and he could faintly hear the sound of her swiping her key card to get into their hotel room. "Well, I know you can't say it back right now, but I love you. We're almost done."

"Mmmm," he said as he thought rapidly. He finally gave up. "I can't think of anything clever to say in reply."

She giggled. "Bye, baby."

"Bye. Oh, hey! Wait!"

"Yeah?"

"Check under the bed, will you?"

"I always do," she said with no small amount of amusement in her tone.

He slid the phone back in his pocket, fighting the grin and keeping a business-like mask over his face. He could feel Carina's eyes burning a hole in the back of his head.

"Now, let's see, Chuckie. What of yours might end up under the bed? Your boxers, say? Or are you a briefs man? Wait, don't tell me. Boxer briefs."

Chuck ignored her and drove on. It was going to be a long drive.

}o{

When Sarah showed up with their bags, Carina and Chuck were just finishing tying Lorenzo to a chair. The man hadn't shown signs of waking up anytime soon so Carina went into the bathroom to get some water.

"How do you deal with her?" Chuck asked quietly as Sarah dropped her duffel near his by the door.

"Uh, hi. Have you been here the last few days? I _can't _deal with her."

He snorted just as Carina waltzed back into the room.

"Sarah, just so you know, your boyfriend spilled the beans about how you distract him while he's driving."

Sarah's brow furrowed as she looked at her boyfriend. His lips pressed tightly together and his eyes widened significantly. He made a soft popping sound with his mouth and clapped his hands together. "I'm gonna scrounge up some firewood."

Carina's wet hand from the cloth she'd just wetted clamped down on his shirt collar and hauled him back. Sarah watched the exchange and glared. "Carina, I don't know what you're talking about," she said.

"I told you before," Chuck tried, "we're not dating. I don't know when you're gonna get that through your ginger head—" _Thump! _"Owww!"

Sarah sprang forward as Chuck collapsed to the ground, holding his stomach where Carina had just punched him, his breath coming out in pained rasps. "What is wrong with you?" he rasped.

"Oh come _on,_ you big baby. I didn't hit you that hard." She turned to Sarah. "He had a tone."

Sarah helped Chuck sit up and made a face. "She has a point there."

"Sorry about the ginger comment," Chuck said, rubbing his gut and letting Sarah help him back to his feet. She was warmed a little by the sincerity in his tone and wanted to smooth back the curl that fell over his forehead.

"S'okay," Carina chirped. "Just wanted an apology."

"You couldn't _ask_?" Chuck muttered, pouting and walking across the room to sit on the table where he'd been placed after Carina had drugged him.

Sarah watched as Carina wrung the wet cloth out over Raph's face. The man sputtered and groaned but didn't wake up all the way.

As they waited, Carina turned around and smirked. "Oh, also…you better put a muzzle on this guy, Wa—erm, Wolf. He was coming onto me pretty hard in the car. Twenty minutes. I could barely stand it."

Sarah saw the special agent's eyes light up in glee when Chuck threw his arms up in frustration. "I'm getting some air."

She rolled her eyes as the back door slammed shut, leaving her in the room alone with a chuckling Carina. "You know, you could lay off him a little bit. He's trying really hard."

"Yeah, I noticed you're _not _trying anymore."

"Well, I could keep denying it, but I'd be wasting my energy. And that's energy I need to get Chuck and I out of here alive."

"This son of a bitch just won't wake up. Jesus!" Carina nudged his leg with her boot heel and shook her head. "Guess I'll just have to wait. In the meantime, _him_?" She threw a thumb over her shoulder towards the door Chuck had just left from.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Come on, Sar. The guy looks like a fleshy version of Jack Skellington."

"Oh my God," Sarah chuckled, "he does not!"

"Fine, I'm exaggerating. But I mean, he's kind of a dweeb."

"Nerd. And he's actually a genius. You didn't get to see him in action, but I'm telling you he's talented."

"What kind of talents are we talking here? Because if it's _that _kind of talent, I can see how you'd overlook some other things." She wiggled her eyebrows and smirked when Sarah laughed.

"I'm not talking to you about my sex life."

"So that's it, huh? You and the dw—nerd—Chuckie are sex buddies on top of being partners. Huh. Well, I can't fault you for it. There are worse ways to fulfill your needs than to jump your partner after a mission. I've done it before." She shrugged.

Sarah paused, looking at the door Chuck had just walked out of. Then she turned back to Carina who was watching her closely.

"Well hot damn, Walker," she breathed softly. "It's not just rutting, is it?"

"You use the dumbest words for sex, you know that?"

"It's called a dictionary, bitch. Buy one." Sarah made a face. "But nice try deflecting. I don't think I have to repeat the question."

"No."

"No I don't have to repeat the question? Or no you're not just rutting?"

"No I'm not answering any more of your questions."

Carina rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine. Maybe you just go out there and make sure brainiac isn't crying. He's kind of sensitive, isn't he?"

Sarah sighed and walked to the door. "He's just not used to _you_ is all."

"I can change that," she shot back just before Sarah quickly walked out of the door and shut it behind her, pretending she didn't hear the quip.

She spotted Chuck sitting at an unused fire pit, drawing in the dirt with a stick. "You're not _actually _upset, are you?" she asked, standing beside him and leaning her legs against his side. She dropped a hand to his hair and stroked it gently.

He laughed. "Nope. I was just hoping you'd follow me out here so that I could do this." He dropped the stick and rounded her waist with his arms, tugging her expertly down to plop into his lap. She fit snugly against him and let him gather her in his arms to kiss her slowly.

When she pulled back, her nose brushing against his, she noticed he was grinning widely. She snuck a hand out from where it was wedged between their chests and lightly ran it down his smooth face. "I'm glad you shaved. Even though you looked kinda like a sexy lumberjack."

He pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow. "You into lumberjacks?"

She cracked up. "No. But if you were a lumberjack, I'd be into them."

"What if…I were a crocodile hunter."

"I would love crocodile hunters."

"Hmmm, I'm sensing a pattern," he said seriously, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully.

"Oh yeah?"

"Mhm." He nuzzled her neck and tightened his arms around her, kissing her throat.

She sighed and shook her head, smacking his cheek gently. "Hold off there, cowboy. I actually came out here for a reason and…" She pulled away and he helped her back to her feet. "…Making out with you wasn't the reason."

"Unfortunately."

"_Unfortunately_," she agreed, beaming in spite of herself. "Chuck, I have to know that this is what you want."

His face clouded in confusion for a second. "What?" She didn't answer, knowing he would work out what she meant on his own. He finally met her serious gaze and nodded. "It is, Sarah. You know I want what you want."

"But that's not the only reason, right?" She moved to sit beside him on the small stone bench. "You aren't just going along with it because it's what I want. This is also what you want, too. Right? Because Carina…" Her voice petered out as she nervously rubbed her hands over her knees.

"Call me crazy," Chuck spoke up when she didn't continue, "but I think we can trust her not to send the feds after us. She's a little bit of a psycho but she cares about you. In her own…way. I guess."

"Mmm, yeah." She smiled and leaned into him. "But you didn't answer my question."

"Textbook subversion." They both grinned at that. "Why isn't it enough that I want something because it's what you want?"

She reached up to fix the curl she'd wanted to fix earlier on in the cabin. "Because if any of this goes wrong and we get arrested, Chuck, I might never see you again…and none of this is worth that. _Nothing _is worth that."

"Hey," he said softly, reaching up to wrap his arm around her shoulder and pull her close to place a kiss on her hair. "We'll be okay."

That was all she needed to hear. From the very beginning, Chuck saying "We'll be okay" in that steady, deep voice of his, was all she needed to hear for her to be sure of the mission, of herself.

"Okay," she whispered, nuzzling her face into his shoulder.

}o{

Chuck was placing the last of their bags into the backseat of the Impala as Sarah stood in the doorway of the safe house and watched him. "I have to admit, I don't feel at all bad leaving you here to deal with this whole mess," she said, turning to eye Carina as the agent got off the phone with her superiors.

"Yeah, I bet you don't."

Carina stopped at her side, her azure eyes widening in appreciation when Chuck bent down to push a duffel bag across the seat.

"Hey!" Sarah snapped halfheartedly. "Eyes off that ass. It's mine."

Her companion snorted and crossed her arms over her chest. "Don't know what you think you're gonna do about it." Sarah felt the air between them sober a little as Carina's gaze left Chuck and landed on her. "So are you in love with the guy?"

Sarah was silent for awhile. "That's for me to know and you to lose sleep over."

"You're a bitch, you know that?"

"Not nearly as much of one as you are."

There was a pause. "Actually, you're probably right about that one."

Sarah laughed and looked down at the wooden floorboards of the small porch. "Yeah," she finally said softly.

"Hm?"

"I love him." Carina's silence told her that the secret agent had already figured that much out. But to hear it come out of her mouth must have been at least a bit of a shock. It was a shock for Sarah, saying it out loud to someone besides Chuck himself. "I need him," she added quietly.

"That's pretty big."

"I know." And she did know. She was a little frightened even now thinking about how much she depended on him.

"You sure all of this is a good idea?"

"All of what?" But she knew what Carina meant. And Carina must have known she knew because she didn't clarify. Sarah sighed. "Carina, Chuck will never do anything to hurt me."

"You sure about that?"

"Yes," she answered without hesitation. "Chuck makes me sure. About everything."

Carina made a face.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just never thought I'd see the day, that's all."

Sarah smirked. "Me neither. But Chuck's…" She paused. Chuck was a lot of things. A lot of amazing things. And some weird things. But the weird things only made him that much more amazing. "He's incredibly special," was what she decided on.

"Okay, then. I'll take your word for it."

"Whatever. If I wasn't here, you'd totally try to tap that. Admit it, he's cute."

"Umm, I don't know what you're yammering about because I'm pretty sure I was trying to tap that _while you were in the room_, so…" She shrugged and started out towards the car.

"Maybe we can find you one, Carina."

"Oh God, please no."

Sarah laughed heartily and looked over to see Chuck's eyes shining as he watched her from where he leaned against the door on the driver's side. Everything in that moment felt unreal, like she and Chuck were a couple visiting an old friend of hers for a weekend and they were saying their goodbyes before making the trip back home. Chuck looked all schmaltzy, like the sap he was. And Carina was even smiling genuinely, instead of the saucy smirk she usually had on her pretty face.

It was strange.

And invigorating.

And in spite of everything, she did everything she could to hold onto this moment as she hugged Carina. She felt the special agent slap her on the ass with the palm of her hand. "You take care of yourself, Walker."

"You too, Carina."

She stepped back as Carina sauntered up to Chuck. She was rather pleased by the way he didn't stutter or blush or tense up as the woman came nearer. His confidence was impressive and his grin was infectious. And she couldn't help but feel a certain amount of warmth when she realized he actually liked Carina a little bit. As intimidating as she was.

"See ya, Chuckie." She lightly smacked the side of his face. "You take care of this one."

"You know I will."

"And eat some pasta or something. Protein shakes. Anything."

He shook his head with a laugh and climbed into the driver's seat. Sarah walked around to the other side, giving Carina's shoulder a squeeze along the way.

"Hey! Miller!"

"What?"

"Sorry."

Carina tilted her head. "For what?"

Sarah gave a cute shrug and wrinkled her nose, getting in the car and shutting the door. They pulled out, leaving Carina in the dust outside of the little dumpy cabin.

}o{

Secret Agent Carina Miller used some of the nastiest bluffing tactics she'd ever had to use on Raph Lorenzo to get him to take the deal. In exchange for every piece of information he knew about Marty Gaup's illegal operations, he and his family would be put into witness protection where Gaup and his affiliates would never reach him.

It had taken almost an entire day, but he agreed and she broke out her tape recorder after calling her superiors.

Carina spent four days of waiting, cutting through red tape, meeting with the director and her advisor, gathering a tactical team, securing Raph Lorenzo and his family, and a number of other things required by the DEA before moving in on Marty Gaup's Laredo villa.

It had been hell and she'd slept poorly, her muscles twitching when she finally got to bed, fuming in the darkness of her room. She was antsy. She wanted to go. She wanted to get him. But she'd been thoroughly chastised by her director for her unsanctioned pursuit of Gaup and if she blew it again she'd be kicked out of the DEA for good.

When she got the all clear from her superiors, it was all she could do not to march right up to Marty Gaup, laugh in his face, and kick him in the balls.

Instead, she led the tactical team into the villa grounds where they quickly and efficiently subdued the guardsmen, and even the unsuspecting gardener and the pool cleaner.

They cleared the grounds outside of the house within five minutes, piling the guards and henchmen into black, unmarked vans. There were no casualties; not that it mattered to her. The bastards would have gotten what they deserved for all the shit they'd pulled working for Gaup, protecting him.

Granted it had all been a bit louder than she'd wanted, especially with Marty still inside. But they'd done the job.

Carina slid into the main house and lifted her SIG-Sauer Tac-Ops. Three of her teammates followed her and covered as she hurried up the stairs towards Marty Gaup's bedroom.

She stopped at the double doors and tried the handle. "DEA! Marty Gaup, you're under arrest! Open the doors right now or I'll open 'em for you!" she belted, before stepping back and pointing her pistol at the door.

When she heard nothing on the other side of the door, she experienced a flash of worry. What if they'd taken too much time securing the grounds and he'd found a way to get out of the house in the meantime? He'd be in Mexico by now and once again, she'd be unable to touch him without going through the Mexican government.

That'd be a bitch and a half.

And she'd lose her job. At the very least, she'd end up at a desk for the foreseeable future.

But when she finally kicked in the door, she sensed movement from the bed and pointed her SIG at whatever it was. Marty Gaup was facedown on the mattress in nothing but his boxers and a pink dress shirt. He was gagged and bound, his wrists and ankles tied together as he squirmed on the giant, round mattress.

Carina stopped and narrowed her eyes, hearing the tactical support move in after her. "Reardon. Any of your guys come in here before we did?" she asked over her shoulder, seeing the man she addressed gaping at an enraged and growling Gaup, his greased hair falling over his red face.

Reardon shook himself, put a finger to his ear, and spoke into his comm for a moment. He lowered his hand and turned to her. "We're the first in the main house."

"What the hell?" she muttered to herself.

Shaking her head, she walked up to Marty and pointed her gun in his face. "We got ya now, Marty. No loopholes. No Mexico. You're done." She stepped away and holstered her pistol. "Take the trash out, boys."

She snerked to herself. It was corny, she knew, but she'd been planning it since the day before.

She rolled her shoulders and put her hands on her hips, watching as Marty Gaup's ankles were freed and he was forced to his feet beside the bed. They carted him out with guns at his back as Carina grinned to herself.

Two of her fellow agents stayed behind to case the rest of the room, opening drawers and looking in his massive walk-in closet, murmuring to each other as they did so.

She took a deep, satisfied breath and turned towards the short hallway that led into the secure room where Marty Gaup kept his most precious possession. It was a golden elephant statue that had once belonged to some Indonesian Maharaja in some past century.

As she moved to peek at the metal door that barricaded the statue in its highly alarmed chamber, she noticed the door was propped open. Tilting her head in curiosity, she turned to look at the others in the bedroom. They were still busy searching the place, so she moved closer to the door.

Pulling her gun back out of its holster, she snuck nearer silently and put her foot in the door, easing it open as quietly as she could. It was a feat in itself considering how heavy the thing was.

She swung her gun around as she stepped into the chamber and saw the smashed alarm system, the wires sparking and the lights on the ceiling flickering. When she turned to the middle of the room where the statue usually resided in its case, she dropped her gun to her side.

"Son of a—"

}o{

A brown 1982 Impala coupe sped north along Route 83 with no other cars in sight. Inside of the car, Chuck Bartowski grinned widely as he peered at the road ahead, one arm hanging out of the open window while his other hand clutched the steering wheel tightly.

Sarah Walker sat beside him, the tendrils of her hair that escaped the loose braid it was in being whipped about by the wind. She didn't seem to mind much as she laughed so hard her cheeks began to ache.

She turned to Chuck and held up the golden elephant between them. "Look at her shine," she said gleefully. "Like a beacon of hope."

"Hope?" Chuck shot back, fixing her with an amused look.

"I don't know! I just have so many emotions right now."

"The foremost of which is…?" He glanced at her beaming face for a moment and turned back to the road.

"Adrenaline."

"Still?" he chuckled.

"And utter bliss."

"Utter bliss. Oooh, I like the sound of that."

The con artist couple had spent four days holed up in a hotel near the Laredo airport, careful to keep out of the hair of Gaup's men. Wolf and Piranha were certainly wanted by the drug smuggler for ditching town without completing the task of killing Jane Cheetham. Not to mention, one of Gaup's right hand men was kidnapped, which aligned perfectly with the timing of the two new recruits' disappearing.

Chuck and Sarah knew they wouldn't be safe going anywhere near the villa, but Chuck had been more than efficient with his video recording device, which he'd planted near the main entrance gate, and another device closer to the main house; he'd done it weeks ago, when they'd first started working for Marty Gaup. This way they could keep tabs on Marty and his goons when they weren't at the villa by watching on Chuck's laptop. But after Carina's emergence into the fray changed their plans, those devices became even more important.

They kept tabs on Carina through the tracking device Chuck had put on her Escalade when he'd driven it back from dropping Sarah off at the Wal-Mart to hot wire and pick up a new car.

That morning, a number of black vans loomed into view on the video feed and Chuck knew that it was time. He and Sarah packed up, got into the Impala, and sped to the villa. Aware that the action would come from the front gate, they snuck over the back wall and used the distraction of the DEA tactical team's raucous infiltration of the villa grounds to gain access in the back entrance to the main house.

Sarah took the lead up the back stairs and weaved through the hallways with Chuck covering her back. They only had a handful of minutes to get into Gaup's room, immobilize him, take out the alarm system, and get the statue.

Chuck had done the sabotaging of the alarm system as Sarah hogtied the drug smuggler before he could fully awaken from his hungover stupor.

With the elephant tucked into a cloth sack and slung over Chuck's shoulder, they lowered themselves off of Gaup's balcony to the bushes beneath and slipped back over the wall.

It had been too easy with the way the tactical team had sat in their vans for at least twenty minutes before storming the villa gates. As focused as both sides were with battling each other, no one had paid any mind to the dark shadows slinking through the grounds, the house, and into the boss' bedroom.

Sarah had even heard Carina barking orders through the bedroom door they'd locked behind them, before she lowered herself the rest of the way off the balcony and into Chuck's arms.

But they were here now, the priceless statue between them, miles and miles away from Carina Miller and the DEA. Off the grid, where both Chuck and Sarah were most comfortable.

"How long until we stop?" Sarah asked, shining a fingerprint off the elephant's trunk before slipping it back into the sack and shoving it under the seat by her boots.

"Like bathroom slash fuel up stop? Or find a hotel room stop?" Chuck asked, slipping his cell out from his pocket and pulling up the GPS.

"Hotel room," she replied. Her voice sounded funny…a little strained, maybe.

He frowned and looked over at her. She was rubbing her hands up and down her black pants, some sort of nervous energy causing her to bounce her right leg as she stared out of her window.

"Uh…I can get us to Fort Stockton in four hours or so."

"Four hours?" she burst out. "Oh no, no. Maybe an hour…at the most."

Chuck lifted an eyebrow. "An..an hour? Near the border, we might find some shitty little dumpy motel we can stop at, but…why not get to Fort Stockton? Then it'll be closer to dinner and we can do some sight seeing or something…historical?"

"Chuck. For God's sake, we need to find a hotel and soon. It doesn't have to be for the night."

"What? Why?" He nearly pulled the car off the road. "Sarah, are you hurt or something? Are—Are we being followed?" He looked in the rearview mirror but saw nothing behind them.

"No. No, I'm not hurt. But we're going to need a place with some horizontal surfaces."

She met his confused gaze with intense, sparkling blue eyes, biting her lip and clenching her hands together in her lap. "Horizontal surf—" He stopped and his ears turned bright red as her meaning became so clear it was like it had slapped him right across the face.

_Oh._

"At this point, vertical would work just as well," she said breathily, her lips suddenly near his ear.

Chuck's foot involuntarily pressed the gas pedal down as far as it would go, leaving a cloud of exhaust behind them.

Within fifteen minutes, he'd pulled into a roadside motel, and they were in a room two minutes later with their clothes strewn about the floor.

As Chuck found himself pinned to the bed under her weight, a thought suddenly struck him from days before and he closed his warm hands around her shoulders. She sighed into his kiss and sat up. "Chuck, seriously? What?" she asked impatiently, one hand tangled in his hair.

He licked his lips and furrowed his brow.

"Who's Bryce?"

* * *

**A/N: **(dodges a barrage of rotten fruit) I know! Oh my God, I'm sorry!

I'm actually not all that sorry though. (dodges more rotten fruit)

Hope you all enjoyed Con Game Texas! It was fun! Please review! (If you aren't too angry with me, that is. SNORT!)

And if you learned anything from these chapters, it's this: THERE'S NO BASEMENT IN THE ALAMO!

And with that, I wash my hands of this weirdness.


	10. Con Game Screwed

**A/N:** I started writing this before I even published part 3 of Con Game Texas. No amount of flaming and utter nonsense I received from a few immature anonymous reviewers was going to change what I'd already planned, and so here we have a little something extra.

A continuance of the bombshell Chuck dropped in the last chapter.

Some questions that were in the nicer reviews are hopefully answered here. Some of you are pretty in tune with my story and it pleases me. Thanks to everyone who wrote appropriate, mature reviews. And thanks to those of you with whom I had full on conversations in PM after my last chapter. I really enjoyed that!

A special thank you goes out to **dettiot **for pre-reading this and showing the extra bit of enthusiasm/enjoyment I needed to see in order to muster the courage to publish it. As always, her support is incredibly important and I think I've inadvertently come to depend on it for my writing process. Writing buddies! She also came up with the brilliantly apt title to this chapter. Just...fyi.

And thank you to the rest of you who offered kind words and support after the blatant hate I was slammed with because I introduced Bryce. I was floored by your sweet notes. And it lifted me up and got me pounding away at this chapter. And look! Here it is! Thanks so much! You all know who you are.

Sorry for the extra long note this time. I had things to say.

Without further ado, Chuck's inopportunely timed question is answered...

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Chuck. But I absolutely OWNED this chapter. If I do say so myself.

* * *

Last time in _Chuck Versus the Con Game_:

"Who's Bryce?"

**CON GAME SCREWED**

The walls of the hotel room fell down around his ears as Sarah's face crumbled in shock, then confusion, and anger, and finally fear. The fear was what startled him the most. Because Sarah Walker was nothing if not fearless.

But then she slid off of him to the end of the bed and stood up.

"Sarah?"

She ignored him, grabbing her underwear and pulling it up over her long legs. He knew…he _knew_ he shouldn't have said it. And at the worst possible moment, too. When everything was perfect and beautiful and _sex_.

And now everything was confusing and ugly and, well, no sex.

"Sarah, I'm sorry. I didn't—"

"Don't even try that with me, Chuck. Don't pull the 'I didn't know' shit with me. We both know you knew. You knew exactly. And where'd you hear that name, like I didn't already know. She's gonna get another black eye to go with the one I already gave her," she promised, her voice tinny and cold. With a stabbing hint of anger.

"I wasn't going to say…that. But I didn't—I wasn't going to ask until later," he fumbled.

"So why didn't you?" She spun on him, fastening her bra before standing in front of him with her hands on her hips. She made for an intimidating figure, what with the fire in her eyes, her above average height, full of strength and muscle and hardness as she stood over him where he lie on his back propped on his elbows…

But all he felt was regret, a deep regret. Because try as she might to push it back, that licking flame of fear was washing over her right before his eyes, making her look vulnerable. And a vulnerable Sarah Walker was something he couldn't handle. This wasn't the same kind of vulnerability he had learned to cherish, when she was lying in his arms, giving him every part of herself, dissolving her fortifications and allowing him in. Or the times she let him see her laugh. Or the very few times he'd seen her cry.

This was terrible, raw vulnerability that spoke of something sinister, some horrific memory that she'd since buried perhaps…something she obviously hadn't told him about. Something Carina knew about?

But they hadn't seemed all that close—what with the cursing and the fighting, and the way Sarah had resisted telling Carina the truth about him, who he was, what he and Sarah were to each other. And then he realized that was just it. They _were_ close. In spite of everything. It should have been obvious. It _was _obvious.

But why would Carina bring this Bryce person up if she knew it would rattle Sarah's cage so intensely?

Chuck was confused and afraid, but also awash with a determination to get her to talk and make this right, whatever it was. Sarah was his partner, and partners worked better when things were out in the air, when trust was at the forefront of the team's priorities. But more than that, he loved her. And that love carried him through some of the most frightening times in the three years since he'd met her. Times when he thought he'd never live through the day. Times when he thought of Ellie and Morgan, or his never-quite-forgotten-try-as-he-might parents, and felt so alone in the world that he wanted to lock himself in a darkened room and never leave it again. Sarah was the one constant that pulled him through, even when he was sure she'd never love him the way he loved her. It hadn't mattered a lick. She'd been his partner through thick and thin, saved his life, tended his wounds…

But now they were more than partners. They were lovers. They were—Well, she was _everything_.

And to see her this way left him cold inside. Chuck wanted to throttle Carina for ruining such a perfect, and what he knew would have been a hell of a lot of fun, moment. But then, it was mostly his fault. And perhaps she'd known Sarah needed to talk about this particular skeleton in the closet. He hadn't gotten to know Carina well, put he wouldn't put something like that past the cheeky DEA agent.

The haunted look in Sarah's face as she leaned down to pick up his boxers and hand them to him only confirmed that whatever this Bryce guy had done was still twisting deeply inside of her. She hadn't escaped it at all. It was just lying dormant in the shadowed, forgotten recesses of her heart.

Her heart.

Was that it?

Had Bryce broken her heart?

He almost tried to wave away with his hand the dark specter of jealousy that swam up from a place deep within him. It was a superfluous, silly, and unwanted emotion. And entirely out of place at the moment.

Bryce, whoever he was, wasn't here in this room with Sarah Walker. But Chuck Bartowski was.

And he realized if he didn't speak up soon, not even that would be true. She was losing it very quickly, pawing along the ground to pick up the rest of their clothes and throw it all on the bed in a pile.

"We should go," she said, her voice tight and her eyes crackling with emotion.

Chuck pushed himself up to stand and pulled his boxers on, going to her side and taking her arms. She looked like she was going to rip herself out of his grip but stopped herself, instead clenching his T-shirt in her fist so that her knuckles turned white.

"Sarah. I apologize. I couldn't have chosen a worse name to say, even though I don't know who he is, and the moment wasn't that great either. I admit it. But if I had known Carina told me his name to hurt you, I never would have brought it up. I'd never hurt you on purpose." She didn't answer, staring hard at his chest, her features unmoved. "You know that, right?" He squeezed her once, to reassure her, or maybe to reassure himself. He didn't know which.

"I know."

_That's it?_

He almost looked to the ceiling in frustration. This was going to be a lot harder than he'd thought. But of course it was. This was Sarah Walker. Sarah was a deep, never-ending, mysterious chasm of emotion. Yes, emotion.

Throughout their partnership, they'd come across others who had called Sarah Walker 'The Infamous Ice Queen'. Nothing phased her. Nothing touched her. She was without emotion. The Terminator, a robot, an automaton, a machine, et cetera.

But he'd known all along that none of those things were true.

Sarah Walker teemed with emotion. It slithered through her ribs and clenched her heart in a vise-grip. And the more it squeezed, the harder her mask became. He'd recognized this about her immediately, and he'd learned how to read her in spite of it.

The minutest shaking of her hands. The quickest blink of those swirling, stormy blue eyes of hers—and the flash of brown and green in them when she was lost in her own head. The subtle tug on the end of her braid when she was unsure. The tightening of her mouth or the flaring of her nostrils when something frustrated her.

His girlfriend in college, Jill, hadn't needed to be watched or read. Everything was clear with her. She was a glass of water with dingy flecks of the calcium that builds up on the spout of the faucet floating in it. She had been so see-through and boring. Pretty, but shallow. Smart, but only when it came to bio-physics. Eager to please and never questioning. She was a clogged drain. A bore.

But Sarah—she was fascinating, vivacious. She was a tall shot of Bacardi 151. She was mystifying, arcane even. At once everything a woman should be, and everything no other woman could ever be. Like 151, she could kick your ass, take your name, and then kick your name's ass while she was at it.

All it took was a sip—the smallest smirk, the raising of her eyebrow, a swish of her thick blond hair—and flames enveloped you in terrific heat.

He knew from the beginning she'd expected him to be frightened, to bow to her imposing presence, be intimidated…probably like other men must have been before. But like a mosquito, he was drawn to that light inside of her, the heat he'd seen almost immediately.

Ever since he was a kid, Chuck Bartowski loved a good puzzle. He loved math. He loved taking a daunting set of equations and working until he solved them. He would take the problem and work to a solution, and then he'd take the solution and work back to the problem again.

Sarah Walker was the best puzzle he'd ever encountered in his almost thirty years. But for once, this wasn't a puzzle that needed solving. Yes, he could see there were pieces of her strewn about the room at the moment, pieces he'd help her gather up if he could. If she'd let him.

But nothing about this woman needed to be _solved_. She didn't need a solution. She was already perfect…_for him._

Filled with flaws and uncertainties and vulnerabilities and doubts and haunting memories, and perhaps even situations in her past that she'd never fully get over—but she was his Sarah. And her imperfections aligned so perfectly with his own imperfections—his self-doubt and facetiousness, his parental issues, his guilt about Ellie, his own baggage that he was sure he'd never quite get rid of.

It was perhaps an egotistical thing for him to think, but Sarah didn't need a _solution_. She needed him. Chuck Irving Bartowski. Just like he needed her.

He forced himself back to the situation at hand, the emptiness in her eyes behind the anger and impatience, the sagging of her shoulders behind the restless muscles of her arms clutched in his hands. She needed him now. And he wasn't going to let her down.

"Sarah, I'm sorry."

"You said that."

"I know. And I can't say it enough."

She shook her head and pulled out of his grip, handing him his shirt. "Good. You're sorry. Thank you. Now let's get out of here."

Chuck tossed his shirt on the bed and crossed his arms. "Nope."

Sarah stopped and finally met his eye, anger her primary emotion. And this time he knew it was at him more than it was at her DEA agent friend. He tried to make himself not care and when that didn't work, he attempted to ignore the fact that he did care.

"Chuck, we're not doing this."

"Oh, yes we are. We are doing this. We're _so _doing this. Right now."

Her eyes flashed. "No we are not."

"We are."

"Chuck Bartowski, if I have to knock you out and drag your almost naked body to the car, I will. Don't think I won't."

"Look, Sarah. I know rehashing bad things from the past is never fun…especially not considering the fun we would be having right now if I'd just kept my trap shut—"

"Oh my God! You're aware of how stupid that was, and yet you're still going!" she interrupted, working her jaw as she spoke. That was never a good sign. He could see the walls coming up and it scared him. He hadn't seen those walls since she'd first told him she loved him over two months ago.

"Because if I stopped, I'd regret it! I know I would!" he argued in just as loud a tone as she'd just spoken.

"If you _continue_, you're gonna regret it! I promise you!" she threatened, holding a finger up in his face.

"Maybe I will for a second. But I don't care. Because I love you and I can see that Br—" Her eyes flashed and he stopped himself. "The name I said, it's tearing you apart. And I don't know why."

"It's none of your business."

He tried not to show her how much that hurt.

"I know it isn't, but we're partners. In so many ways, Sarah, we're _partners_. And when things hurt you…Just hearing that name is hurting you a lot, and I can see it, Sarah. I get that it's hard. These sorts of things are hard for _regular_ people, and you're anything but regular." He furrowed his brow and stepped closer, taking it as a good sign that she let him.

"I would hit you if I didn't know that you meant that as a compliment," she muttered begrudgingly, not meeting his eye.

"It is a compliment. I've dated regular girls and you're so much better." He saw the tension in her shoulders ease for a moment, so he took advantage of it and gently wrapped his hands around her wrists. "Sarah, talk to me. Maybe I can't help." Chuck stopped and shook his head. "What am I even talking about? I don't even know what this is! All I know is that I said 'Who's Bryce?' and you closed up like a clam shell with a rotten, gnarly pearl inside of it."

"A rotten, gnarly pearl?" she asked, looking up at him dubiously through her eyelashes.

"It's a bad metaphor, I know. But whatever this is that's bothering you must be something big. Something important. Something pretty nasty. Something you've kept from me for three years."

She immediately became defensive, her eyebrows moving together as she opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off quickly.

"I don't begrudge you that!" he rushed out. "Not yet, anyway. Not when I don't know what it even is. But I'm giving you the opportunity to tell me now. Not because I _have _to know, even though I am insanely curious." He smiled a little. "Admittedly."

"Then why?"

"Because I want it to go away. I want it to leave. And I don't want to see the pain in your eyes I'm seeing now ever again."

She softened a little and shut her eyes, her lips quivering. When she opened her eyes again, he saw a hint of desperation there, barely suppressed. "It's enough that I have you, Chuck. It's just a—a thing that happened. Something in the past."

"But it's not just in the past, is it?" She made a face. "Sarah, wait. Come on. I know you. I can tell. You know I can. Who is Bryce? And what did he do to you?"

He saw her eyes cloud in confusion for a moment, before becoming clear again. "While I'm flattered by your jealousy, Chuck, it's not about Bryce. Not really."

Chuck felt his face grow hot and cursed her for being able to read him as well as he read her.

"Well," she continued. "I mean it _is _about Bryce. But God, that doesn't even scratch the surface." She eyed him with a subtle tilt of her mouth into a semblance of a crooked smile. "He didn't jilt me or anything."

He was ashamed of the relief that coursed through him at her words. Chuck was trying so hard to keep his own lack of self-confidence and the jealousy that stemmed from it out of the equation. But it was proving to be difficult.

"Then what?" he asked softly. "Who was he? A partner?"

She sighed heavily and her eyes slipped shut again. "I really don't want to talk about it."

"Okay."

She jolted and opened her eyes again, peering at him in confusion. "Say that again?"

"Okay." He gave her a mute smile, squeezing her arms. "If you _really _don't want to talk about it, there's nothing I can do to make you. And I wouldn't try to even if I could. You know that."

"Damn it, Chuck Bartowski," she murmured breathlessly, stepping close to him and melting into his chest, dropping her forehead to his jaw and sliding her arms around his torso. "Nobody likes you," she teased quietly, and it made him grin so wildly that he feared his face would split in two.

"If I had a penny for every time I heard that…"

She snorted half-heartedly and lifted her head, still not meeting his gaze as she looked to the side at their pile of clothing strewn about the mattress. "He was kind of a partner. Bryce, I mean." Chuck almost interrupted with a silly quip but stopped himself at the last minute, realizing now wasn't the time for his defense mechanism of cracking jokes and spewing popular culture tropes when he was uncomfortable. "But he and I fooled around, too."

The way she said it, so nonchalant like she'd just ordered a turkey club with no mayonnaise, made him both concerned and confused, on top of the stab of jealousy that he realized he'd never really be able to control. "Oh," he breathed, and he had to acknowledge he'd also lost control of his damn mouth as well.

She smiled a little. "As cute as Jealous Chuck is, can you put him away for awhile?"

Chuck swallowed and nodded. "Sorry. Yes. He's officially evicted from the premises." He gave her a goofy smile and she screwed her mouth to the side in an attempt not to smile. "Continue."

Sarah hugged him closer for a moment, as if drawing strength from him, and he let her take whatever she needed, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tightly, pressing his lips to her temple.

Then she pulled away and sat on the edge of the bed, still clad only in her underwear and bra, lying back on the mattress and covering her eyes with her hands. Chuck joined her and mimicked her position, lying on his back beside her, folding his hands on his stomach and looking at the ceiling.

"I was twenty two. Starting to take more risks in jobs, and actually having them pay off. I was a little cocky, maybe even careless once or twice, but I was on a winning streak. You know how that feels." He felt her looking at him, so he turned his head and smiled.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Untouchable. How I feel when I'm with you." He gave her a soft grin and she smiled, rolling her eyes and muttering a teasingly derisive, "Sap".

She paused, the smile fading. "I had my eye on a flashy tech program that was supposed to be hot shit in the electronics market. Apparently the finishing touches were being tacked on last minute behind closed doors by tech nerds like you. The announcement was going out in a month and the tech community was in an uproar. Well, that's the sort of thing China would pay big money to have. You know, they create knock offs that don't work as well but get sold at a lower price. Just so happens the night I went in for the kill, somebody else had the same idea."

"Like Dubai?" Chuck asked.

"Yeah. Except that this was a team of big shots, professionals…instead of a lanky amateur computer nerd with an affinity for tranq pistols." When he turned to give her an affronted gasp, he saw her eyes alight in amusement and affection and it warmed him to no end. So much that he felt around the mattress for her hand and threaded their fingers together.

"I got there first, though. I had the flash drives with the code in my pocket and was making my escape when I was caught by one of them." Sarah stopped again and he could tell she was collecting her thoughts, preparing the story in her mind.

It was a definite difference between them. She was so calculated and precise when she spoke, patient and careful. She thought before she said things, planned her words, mapped them out cautiously and _then_ talked. Chuck, on the other hand, rambled and stumbled through his sentences. He just spoke whatever came to mind, had to backtrack, start again, pause and retrace his steps.

"I knocked him cold and somehow eluded the rest of the team for long enough to get to the roof. I had no idea how many there were of them at the time, but by the time I got to the roof, a handful of them were standing there with masks over their faces. One of them was a woman. I only knew that because she was the one who spoke to me. I fought them as best I could, and she was apparently impressed because instead of killing me once I was subdued, she knocked me out. They took me back to their headquarters and when I woke up she told me who she was, who they all were."

Sarah took a deep breath. "Have you ever heard of the Larkins?"

Chuck frowned thoughtfully. "Maybe in passing? I've heard stories here and there of them. Other than that, I don't know anything about the Larkins."

"I hadn't really, either. I knew they were some sort of con royalty. Like the mafia bosses in New York but in the confidence game instead. Being picked up by the Larkins wasn't high on my list of things I wanted to accomplish in my career. That's for damn sure."

"Oh my God, you got kidnapped by the Larkins?!" he gasped. "Sarah, there are stories out there that make them sound like freaking monsters! Wha—"

"You're getting way ahead of me, here, Chuck," she interrupted. He could feel she was getting frustrated and even though he had a feeling he had little to do with it, he reined himself in.

"Sorry, sorry," he muttered, holding his free hand up in surrender. "Continue."

"Turns out they needed an errand girl. Georgia Larkin, the leader…or I guess I should say the mother, since it's a family team, but she _was_ the leader, thought I might be a good candidate. Especially when she saw how easily I was able to get into the building, take the flash drives, and…well…I _almost _got out. I would have if the Larkins hadn't been there. She was impressed by my fighting, too. She explained what the Larkins were all about. Family, loyalty, success, and other things I don't really remember."

Chuck knew she remembered everything. It was one of the earliest things he'd discovered about her—her near photographic memory. But he was silent as she went on, making sure to keep hold of her hand. If Sarah was involved with the Larkins, this would be worse than he'd imagined. But then…who was Bryce? He shook that question out of his head, feeling the pang of jealousy again and silently cursing himself for it.

_You are a typical idiot boyfriend, Chuck Bartowski._

"At that point, I didn't really have a choice. It was join the Larkins, learn from them, keep out of trouble with Georgia—fuck, she was terrifying, though, Chuck—or get a bullet in my brain." Sarah's eyes were haunted again, dark with memories and a hint of fear. Any woman that Sarah Walker feared was a woman he never wanted to cross paths with. Ever. Satan's bride. "Just another dead girl nobody knew, a shadow person with no traceable identification, nothing that tied me to the world, or…anyone, really."

He squeezed her hand silently, his head turned towards her as he watched a tear threaten to escape from the corner of her eye. She blinked it away in typical Sarah fashion.

"So I stayed on. They trained me. Mixed martial arts. They taught me simple, fast, lethal ways to…_discharge_ anyone in my way. I learned a lot from them. From Georgia in particular. She sort of took me under her wing, as much as anyone with her lack of humanity could. She taught me that hardness, the walls I put up, the protective façade? That's all her."

Chuck watched Sarah fight those walls every day now that they were together. It made sense that they'd been erected by another person, someone whose teachings stuck with Sarah even now, over six years later.

"Bryce was the youngest of Georgia and Patrick's six boys. He was my age." Chuck made an effort not to look like he was listening harder now that she had mentioned Bryce. "And he was the least…slimy…I guess you could say. He had these eyes that were so blue. Like he could see right through me when he looked at me. It made me uncomfortable and warm at the same time."

He bit his tongue as he watched her eyes cloud a little as she remembered, her voice taking on a bit of a wistful tone. The jealous monster was rearing its head and he fought it off valiantly with his broadsword, rolling onto his side and propping himself on his elbow to look down at her.

Her eyes fastened on his. "But there wasn't anything cold and calculating in them like the rest of the Larkins' eyes. He was just kind of there, following orders. I thought maybe he understood me. Because we were the same age and he seemed to get ousted from the important missions because he was the youngest. When you have that many sons…" Sarah trailed off, as though another thought caught her in its web. Then she looked right into his again and she smiled a little. "He didn't understand me. Even after a year of working with the Larkins, being with Bryce, he didn't understand me. And you, you understood me a couple of minutes after you broke into my hotel room and I threw my knives at you."

Chuck felt a goofy smile make its way across his face. "You're giving me too much credit. I'm not sure I really understood you then. I was foolishly drawn to you. Curious. I was kind of an idiot, truth be told."

"An observant idiot." She brought her opposite hand up to cup his chin, running her thumb over his lips lightly. Then the light dimmed a little in her eyes and she dropped her hand again, looking away.

"It was nice, having someone look at me the way Bryce looked at me. He wasn't unattractive, either. Actually, I'd say he was…really hot. Like…it was unreal how hot he was. I was tongue tied around him some days. In the beginning, before we started sleeping together." There was nothing reminiscent in the way she spoke. It was matter-of-fact, quiet but not soft. It was the only thing keeping Chuck from being completely overtaken by the green-eyed monster.

"Wavy hair, blue eyes, tall probably?"

"He _did _have wavy hair. Or maybe it was more…floppy. He wasn't as tall as you, though," she said, smiling as though she knew he was jealous. He thought maybe it pleased her a little. At least he hoped. Otherwise he'd feel supremely foolish. His feelings weren't what was important here. And yet, it was all he could think about at the moment.

And anyways, Bryce Larkin wasn't as tall as he was. One point for Chuck. Probably around fifteen points for Bryce.

Or at least, that's how it stood in Chuck's mind.

"He charmed me. And he was really good at his job."

"Uh…the—which job? Charming you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Cons, Chuck. Cons."

"Right."

She bit her cheek to keep from smiling and Chuck silently gave himself another point.

"He came to my room one night after a job almost went south. It was a couple months after I joined up. I'd gotten hurt. A bullet grazed my shoulder. Nothing serious. But he made sure it was treated and wrapped properly, and things progressed from there."

Chuck forced himself to think about which shoulder it must have been, mentally going over the slopes of her shoulders and the skin there, trying to think if he'd ever seen a mark there. Perhaps Bryce sucked at first aid and he hadn't treated it properly and it left a scar. While Chuck had worshipped every inch of her a few times over, he couldn't remember. But trying to remember was helping him to not think about Sarah being touched by another man—a Larkin, no less. A _hot_ Larkin.

There. Crap. He was thinking about it.

"He told me to trust him, but that we couldn't say anything to his family about what kept happening. Not to anyone. So we kept up pretenses, but he continued to come to my room and vice versa. It worked, for what it was."

"What was it?" he heard himself ask. It was all he could do not to shove his fist into his mouth to shut himself up.

She met his gaze steadily. There was no amusement, no teasing. Just understanding, and a need for _him _to understand. It was a welcome sight, the surety in her gaze, and he almost sighed in relief at the flash of confidence he was used to seeing in her. Then he felt foolish again, for making this about _his _need to be reassured rather than hers.

"I'm not sure. It wasn't a relationship, really. It didn't have to be. We had sex. We never even spent the night together once, I don't think. It wasn't necessary. And sleeping with him didn't make me trust him any more than I would have otherwise." She shook her head. "But it was nice. _For what it was._"

She seemed careful to emphasize that part. Whether it was for his benefit or her own, he had no idea, but he moved his free hand across her body and set it on her opposite hip, rubbing his thumb over the skin just above the waistband of her underwear. He felt her shiver a little beneath him and he mentally gave himself another point.

And frankly, the other guy deserved to get docked at least two points for having sex with Sarah but not staying the night. Obviously Bryce Larkin lacked a brain. Because Chuck knew firsthand that waking up with this woman in his arms was indescribably perfect. He'd known it the first time they'd shared a bed in a hotel in New York after they'd caught the first flight from London. It was right after she'd asked him to be his partner. Sure, she'd slept on the opposite side of the bed, and he'd woken up smashed as close to the wall on his side as possible in order not to touch her by accident at night. But when he'd turned over and looked at her…The peace in her beautiful features, the way her hair fell over her soft cheek, and the way she curled up in a little ball, her fists beneath her chin and her knees tucked into her chest…

Bryce had definitely missed out on one of the greatest pleasures of humanhood. Chuck mentally docked him another three points. _What a loser._

"I can understand that," he said softly, feeling the need to reassure her that she didn't have to worry about his feelings where the Bryce situation was concerned. "Stability in the midst of chaos." Chuck paused. "Kinda like us."

Sarah shook her head. "No. Not like us. Sure, Bryce was something I could hang onto when I felt like I was alone, lost, but I didn't for a moment let myself think what I had with him gave me stability. Distraction, sure. I never once dropped my guard around him, told him anything about myself, let him in. I don't think he even cared to know. And I didn't care to know about him, either."

She reached up to touch the smattering of hair on his chest, playing with it idly as she met his gaze. "Not like us, Chuck."

She didn't have to say anything else, because he could see what she meant in the way she looked at him, the smile touching her entire face, the way her brow smoothed and her eyes warmed. She'd found in Chuck everything that had been missing with Bryce—she hadn't even really looked for those things with Bryce. She hadn't known she needed them until Chuck. If only she knew how fully he reciprocated those feelings.

Even though he knew the worst part of her story was still to come, he lowered himself and allowed them both the simple pleasure of being close—a moment in which they could revel in the intimacy, both physical and emotional, that existed between them. He pressed his cheek to hers and turned to kiss her skin just below her ear, hearing her sigh and feeling her slide a hand up his back and neck to tangle in his hair.

He pulled back, taking a moment to nuzzle her nose with his and earning a bright smile. Then he peered down at her again and she let go of his hair, instead resting her hand over his at her hip.

"Anyways, things continued that way for a few more months and Georgia started assigning me real missions instead of just errands. I was sent out with the team to do recon, and then I was sent on break-ins, bank jobs…I even got to accompany Patrick, Bryce's dad, and Nicholas, his brother, on a few hit jobs."

"Hit jobs? Like…"

"Yeah. They were taking people out. Sometimes it was just clean up. A guy gives the Larkins info and the job goes south. The guy tries to disappear but he knows too much so…" She stopped and bit her lip. "Patrick and Nicholas were the best in the family at assassination. They made it look easy. Like snapping a rose from its stem."

Even _that_ gave Chuck the willies.

"I was learning so much, getting better and better. At everything. I began to feel unstoppable, being a part of the Larkin clan. _They _were unstoppable. The feds couldn't touch them. Other conmen couldn't touch them. _Nobody _could touch them. Or me, so I thought." Chuck felt a chill wrack through him at the ominous sound of that last statement. Her voice was flat and bitter, her eyes dull, her brow furrowed. And he sensed that she was berating herself even as she continued the story.

"A little over a year after I was accepted into the family, Georgia called me to her suite and told me she was sending me on a solo job. Just me. No partner. No Bryce. No back up. No communication. There was a man they'd been after for information on a stolen Caillebotte that had disappeared a few months earlier from some…European museum. I don't remember which one. But she needed me to go in and find him, kidnap him, bring him back to the Larkin headquarters." She snorted humorlessly. "I was so thrilled. Eager to get off on my own again. And I spent two days with Georgia, going over the layout of the abandoned cotton mill Jones was hiding out in. Deciding how to creep up on him, get him back to headquarters. I was ready."

Sarah stopped then, turning her head away from him and staring vacantly at the wall. He let her have a few minutes to ruminate, to think in silence, maybe even relive some of it in her mind, before she was ready to continue. He allowed himself to take her in. The messy blond hair she'd pulled out of the ponytail in their rush to get each other in bed. Her eyebrows that were often arched, sometimes in humor and sometimes because he was busted. Her nose that widened when she smiled or laughed. Full lips that automatically made her look a little pouty when she was thinking.

She looked at him and smirked quietly. "What are you lookin' at?" she asked, nudging him with her hips.

"Perfection," he answered immediately, a giant cheeky grin on his face.

Sarah snorted adorably and rolled her eyes, but, he noted, she was unable to keep from smiling. Another point in his favor. "I'm not perfect, Chuck."

"No, you're not."

She arched both of her eyebrows, looking a little surprised.

"Didn't expect that, didja?" he teased. She narrowed her eyes at that. Chuck pulled his hand away from her hip and instead took her hand, holding it up between them. "But I don't want or need you to be perfect. I love every last little flaw."

Sarah looked dubious but the look left her face as he turned her hand over and kissed the almost invisible mark on her palm from when she'd burned herself cooking over a campfire. Of all things, an internationally wanted con artist hurting herself while cooking. He lowered her hand, his eyes never leaving hers as pressed his lips to the scar on the inside of her forearm. He didn't know where it had come from, but he'd seen it often enough. Same with the one just above her elbow and the one at the crook of her neck. He could've invented a few more and continued with his exploration of her "flaws", but with the way her breath was quickening and the way her eyes were losing focus as she peered at him through her lashes, he decided to stop.

If he didn't, they would lose sight of the situation at hand and all thoughts of Bryce and his family would be forgotten.

While this wasn't necessarily a bad thing in his mind, Chuck strove to be unselfish in this situation. Sarah needed him to listen, be attentive, be supportive. She didn't need him to ravage her. At least not at this particular moment. Later…maybe. If he didn't completely burn that bridge by blurting her ex's name in the middle of foreplay. But Bryce wasn't an ex—not really, at least…Right? They didn't _date_ per se. They just had…

_Lots and lots of sex._

The fire in his chest was tempered a bit by that thought and he both thanked and cursed his inner monologue. The bastard inner monologue.

Sarah took a moment to softly run her hand down his face before she collected herself enough to continue.

"Anyways, Georgia said I had to do it alone. I was the only one not in the FBI's files, or at least I wasn't connected to the Larkins on paper. They were looking for Carl, the brother who was two years older than Bryce, because of a forgery scam. He hadn't been cautious enough and had left evidence, or something. So the whole family was lying low until it blew over.

"I went in alone. Completely alone. It was this abandoned building in South Carolina, tucked away in the middle of nowhere. I think it was some sort of cotton mill from back in the early nineteen hundreds. It wasn't used anymore, but it was a historical landmark or something like that."

"So basically, it was ignored completely by the state and left there to crumble because they didn't have permission to bulldoze the crap out of it?" Chuck input.

"Basically." He nodded and she continued. "I had to trek through nature most of the way to the mill because I thought pulling up in a jeep might alert Jones. Then he'd escape and I'd be SOL. So I parked about three miles out. I went in through a broken window and found the place totally deserted, as I'd expected."

Her hand gravitated to his and held onto it. Chuck braced himself, knowing by the way she began to tense up that she was getting to the hard part.

"I spent a good ten minutes scoping the entire mill from top to bottom, searching in the machinery even, looking for any sign that Jones was there, or even _had _been there at one time. Maybe, I thought, he'd gone out to hunt for his dinner or something. I don't know. So I stayed put for another thirty minutes, hiding in silence, waiting for him to come back.

"When he didn't, I knew something was up. I tried to reason that maybe he'd left when he found out the Larkins were after him. Maybe he was halfway across the country by the time I even got my assignment. But something told me to get out of there. Gut feeling. I don't know. I was just about to leave when my phone rang."

She sat up suddenly and Chuck rolled onto his back to get out of her way, pushing himself to sit beside her immediately and resting his hand lightly on the small of her back. Sarah pulled her legs up to her chest and placed her cheek on her knee so that she could look at him. It made her look so small. And that vulnerability he didn't like was back, making him want to wrap her up tight in his arms and tell her she didn't have to relive it again, that they could just get in the car and leave…

But he wanted to know. And it was selfish, true…but he also had a feeling she needed to tell him. She'd perhaps resigned herself to the fact that she needed to get it off her chest after all. He was here. He would listen. And he would protect her when it became difficult.

He hoped to God she knew that.

"I thought maybe it was Georgia, telling me to head back. They'd made a mistake. Or they'd gotten word Jones was somewhere else. When I saw it was Bryce, I figured she'd had him call instead. So I answered."

Chuck felt her shiver, even though the room was a little warm and had poor air circulation. He resisted the urge to get up and open the window, knowing Sarah needed him right here, even as the room grew stuffier with each passing minute. "What'd he say?" he prompted. "Did Jones escape?"

"Don't you see, Chuck?" She lifted her head and shook it numbly. "Of course you don't. I didn't even see it until he spelled it out for me. Chuck, Jones wasn't real. He never existed."

He felt like Muhammad Ali had punched him straight in his gut.

Jones didn't exist?

He knew his confusion must have shown on his face when she continued speaking, her voice restrained and quiet.

"Bryce apologized."

"For what?"

"I was set up, Chuck. The Larkins, all of them, Bryce included, set me up to take the fall for Carl." Chuck felt disgust and anger crash over him like a tidal wave. "It was perfect timing, because about a week before, Bryce's oldest brother Theo caught him coming out of my room in the middle of the night apparently. Theo told his parents, there was a family meeting, and I was voted off the island—so to speak."

"And Bryce didn't argue? Stand up for himself? For you?"

"I was unanimously voted off the island, Chuck." She paused to let that sink in. "He kept apologizing, but he made no excuse. Like I should have expected to be run over like that. I was so pissed."

Chuck could only imagine her shattering the phone against the wall. Then taking out one of her knives and skewering the SIM card right through the middle with a quick flick of her wrist.

"I fucking tore the phone to pieces. No goodbye, nothing. I couldn't give him the satisfaction. And I sure as hell wasn't going down at the hands of that Oedipus Complex Poster Boy and his sociopath mother."

The anger suddenly seeped out of her and her shoulders sagged and she dropped her forehead to her knees, her voice muffled as she continued. "I was about to hightail my ass out of there when I heard cars pulling up to the mill."

Even though she was sitting right here in front of him, safe and within arm's reach, in one piece, he couldn't stop the spike of fear that stabbed through him at her situation all those years ago. Standing in the mill, shattered by betrayal, angry, filled with self-hate and bitterness—and suddenly hearing the sound of FBI vehicles roaring up beside the building. "Jesus, Sarah." He scooted a little closer, rubbing his hand up her back and gently rounding her shoulders with his arm. "The FBI?"

"Yeah. I knew it right away. I knew I was surrounded, that I'd be going to prison for something I _actually didn't do_. Funnily enough." The smile was bitter and disgusted and made Chuck's stomach turn. The one thing Sarah had never had reservations about telling him was that she never wanted to go to prison. She swore she'd rather die than end up there. She never told him why, really, but he wondered if it had something to do with her father—or her mother maybe? He didn't know much about either even though he'd met Jack Walker once…or Jack Burton as he'd gone by at the time.

But there she was facing many years in prison, as a twenty two year old. And if the FBI had a file on the elusive Sarah Walker, she'd get all of those things slammed on her as well. Perhaps life in prison. All of that was probably coming to her mind in that moment as she heard them climbing out of the vans, heard the guns cocking. He could only imagine the scene, and it made his heart hammer against his chest.

The pain in her eyes now was probably only a fraction of what she felt at that moment. He rubbed her shoulder gently and she leaned to the side so that she was pressed against him. "I acted on impulse. I didn't let myself freeze or think about what might happen. My dad always told me that we make our own fate. And there wasn't any way in hell I was going to prison. That wasn't my fate." She turned to look at him, tears sitting at the edges of her eyes. "I couldn't let them get me."

"I know, baby," he said softly, reflexively brushing his thumb across her cheek even though her tears hadn't fallen yet. "What'd you do?"

"I moved towards the back of the mill, thinking I might try to escape out of one of the second floor office windows or something. I mean, the landing would have hurt, but at least I'd get out of there. But I heard them come 'round the back and I knew I was surrounded. And I didn't know what to do or where to go." He could see her falling apart right in front of his eyes, her nostrils flaring, her eyes welling up and her lips pressing together to try to stave off the anguish. Her eyes were dark and pained, terrified even now as she sat in the safety of his embrace.

"What happened, Sarah?" he asked, gently cupping her cheek.

"I could hear them setting up outside, preparing to break the door down if they had to. And then one of them pulled out a megaphone. I couldn't really hear what he was saying, as scared as I was. But I knew he was probably asking me to come out with my hands up or something like that. And I wasn't gonna. I would have rather gotten shot down inside the mill if it came to it. But I wasn't gonna do that either." She took a deep breath, swallowing thickly and trying to control herself. He gave her time, rubbing her shoulder and dropping his other hand to her knee, watching her silently as her face crumbled. He'd never seen her like this. It terrified him.

What in God's name had happened? Had the FBI tortured her or something?

"I saw a smokestack, chimney type thing and I crawled into it. It was really small and it—it hurt," she said brokenly. "It really hurt," she half-sobbed, hugging herself tightly as though the memory of the pain was physically affecting her.

"You squeezed yourself into the smokestack?" he breathed in shock and awe. She could only nod, the tears spilling down her cheeks as she curled into a ball.

That was it.

He couldn't handle this anymore.

So he pushed one arm beneath her knees and rounded her back with the other, gingerly lifting her into his lap and holding her tightly to him. "That's crazy," he murmured breathlessly, his lips against her forehead.

"I know," she answered with a nod. "It was the craziest thing I've ever done. And—" She sniffled and hiccuped. "I've done some crazy things." He pulled his face back and smiled, making sure to infuse the look with his admiration for her. "I know," he said warmly. She chuckled instead of the sob it started as, pressing her face against his cheek and clinging to him.

"I kept hearing them walking past me. And I could hear them speaking to each other, but I don't know what they were saying. God, I was so scared they would find me. But I was stuffed in there so tightly and the pain was so unbearable that I started to not care whether they found me or not. I even prayed once for them to." She shook her head, the grip she had on him not lessening at all as she continued. "I couldn't go to prison, though. I just couldn't. So I stayed there. Even though everything hurt."

Chuck watched the tears drip down her face. And a twinge of fear alit in her eyes again.

"There was this guy, FBI agent I assume, who was pacing back and forth past the smokestack I was in. And he kept whistling this creepy song that I didn't know. I can still hear it sometimes, in nightmares. So low and eerie. And he just walked…back and forth, back and forth…I thought he knew I was there and was trying to psych me out or something. But he eventually went away."

"How long were you in there for?" Chuck couldn't help but ask as he saw her looking off to the side dimly.

"About twenty six hours."

"What?!"

"Something like that. I don't know for sure. I couldn't see my watch and I didn't think to look."

Twenty six hours. Sarah had spent twenty six hours shoved up a chimney that was too small for her, in pain, in constant terror as the prospect of being thrown in prison loomed over her head. There was nothing he could say, no words he could think of would take that away, so he just held onto her even tighter, wishing he had eight arms like an octopus so that he could hug her everywhere, or hold her better or…just…something. Anything to make this better.

"But I finally got out. It took a lot of effort but I got out. I couldn't stay in there anymore and I decided…" She sniffled. "If they were still there and they got me, then so be it. But I couldn't stand it anymore. I couldn't breathe. I was dizzy. Sick. Every part of my body just _ached_."

"Were they still there?" he asked quietly, rubbing his hand down her arm, as though he was trying to somehow ease the pain of the twenty two year old version of Sarah, even though that was an absurd notion.

She shook her head slowly, her nose nuzzling his shoulder. "No." She sniffed and wiped the tears on her cheeks on his skin. "No, they were gone. I didn't care either way. I just laid there for as long as I possibly could. And breathed. Enjoyed the cool air on me."

Understandable. After being shoved up a chimney for over a day, covered in who knows what and from what era…

"Then I finally got up and crawled through a window." He saw her eyes drop to her forearm that was draped over his opposite shoulder and he saw the small pale scar that he'd kissed earlier.

"You cut your arm."

"What?"

"On the glass when you were climbing out."

She lifted her head and made a face, and he almost smiled at the adorable line between her eyebrows that appeared when she was puzzled. "Yeah, I did. How did you know that?"

He wordlessly reached up to pull her arm close and kissed the scar again.

Her lips twitched in a tiny smile, but the puzzled line on her forehead remained. "How'd you know that was from the window?"

"Well I saw you look at it just now, for one."

She pressed her lips together and tilted her head. "How'd you even see it?"

"Sarah, I've looked at your arm before. I know there are scars there. And other places, too." He shrugged. "And I'm observant."

"You know all my scars?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He quickly backpedaled. "No, no. No. I just know you have some. I just happen to see this one a lot because of the Gomez Addams thing I do all the time."

"Hm." She melted against him. "I like the Gomez Addams thing."

"I know you do."

"I wish I'd discovered it earlier…" Her voice faded as she reached up to run a hand through his hair. He knew she wasn't just talking about Gomez Addams, but this in general, and while it warmed the cockles of his heart to hear her say that, he knew there was something deeper going on in her head at the moment.

"Sarah…"

"I didn't really trust them, the Larkins, the way you're supposed to trust your team. There was always something underneath everything they did, something that left me feeling…uncomfortable. I don't think Bryce was really as bad as his brothers, or his parents, but he was a coward. They were all cowards. Led around on a leash by Georgia." She shook her head. "And even though that trust wasn't there, even though I never really felt like I belonged in the family, what they did destroyed something in me. God I sound pitiful, but it's true."

He tried not to let her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck distract him as he shook his head. But again, he couldn't find the words to reassure her.

"I hate the way this sounds, like I'm Picasso or something, but it's the only way I know how to describe it. I went through a dark period. After I recuperated physically, I was still emotionally and mentally unstable. I spent some time lying low, hitting the money caches around Europe that my dad taught me to keep for emergencies, and I started taking anything I could get." She was quiet when she repeated, "Anything."

Chuck's arms tensed unconsciously. _Anything_. Like murder.

He'd always been secretly unsettled by that part of Sarah's past. And although he never judged her, he always wondered how she'd been able to do it.

But now, considering what she'd gone through at the hands of the Larkins, the utter betrayal of people who'd taken her under their wing, he didn't wonder all that much at Sarah's decision to take that type of job. He didn't wonder that she'd ended up in a dark place. That she didn't completely go ape shit bonkers was a testament to her strength. Anyone less than her would have gone completely off the reservation after being put through the ringer like that.

At that thought, he kissed her forehead again as she continued speaking.

"I think I broke a little. And I continued working even though I was broken, which maybe broke me even more. Like when athletes get an injury and keep playing on it without getting surgery to fix it…and they make it worse and worse the longer they wait. I definitely stayed away from team jobs. For years, I just wouldn't do it. Didn't matter what it was. I wasn't gonna get fucked over again."

"But you joined my team in London," Chuck interrupted. She blushed a little and he couldn't help but spur her on. "Why'd you take that job?"

She just shrugged.

"But you didn't know me. You didn't know anyone else on the team. Why'd you say yes?"

"You know why."

Chuck thought long and hard, then shook his head. "Really?"

She gave him a look. "Yes. You know why."

"Okay, so I do. Mind telling me so that I can be sure, though?"

She was silent for awhile, staring off to the side. "Because you opened something…inside of me. A door or something that I'd kept shut for a long time. And I was curious and intrigued and yes, I admit it, I liked you. And I liked that you kept me on my toes. It was invigorating and exciting. And I thought that…" She took a deep breath. "I thought that if I was capable of trusting anyone…ever again…you'd be a good place to start."

He didn't say anything. He couldn't. He knew their connection was close to instantaneous, but this was too much.

"I felt comfortable trying, at least. Which was more than I could say for anybody else I'd ever met."

"But you didn't trust me."

"No," she murmured. "Not yet, I didn't."

"Because of the Larkins."

"Sure, that. Maybe. Yes."

"And Bryce?"

He saw her bite her cheek. Sarah looked down at his chest and pulled herself away from him, scooting to the mattress again and folding her legs under her body. Then she looked up and met his eyes steadily. "The thing I had with Bryce was physical more than it was emotional, but there was still an element of…" She pursed her lips as she thought. "I guess what I mean is that I let my guard down when I was with him. I let my attraction to Bryce jeopardize my safety. If I'd never gotten involved with him, I never would have ended up in that cotton mill." She paused, rubbing her hands up and down her arms as though she had a chill, which was impossible because the room temperature must have been at least eighty five degrees. "Maybe I'd still be working with the Larkins. But I have a feeling, even if I hadn't fooled around with Bryce, they would have found a way to get rid of me sooner or later. For some reason or another. Who knows?"

Chuck watched as her eyes rose to meet his again from where she'd been staring at her lap.

"I let my mistake with Bryce dictate my decisions from then on. And—" She heaved a giant sigh. "And that included you."

Chuck swallowed, aware that he probably looked a little like a lost puppy. "What?"

"I didn't want to make that mistake again. I couldn't afford to, Chuck." He stared blankly. "Ever since I was a little girl, I had it hammered into my head that I should always look out for myself. Because nobody else was going to. Not my mom. Not my dad. Not my counselors. Not my friends, when I had them. All I had to depend on was myself. And that worked. For so many years, it worked. The one time I neglected to do that, the one time I threw caution to the wind and did what I wanted…" She looked a little sheepish when she added, "Took what I wanted" and he felt his throat go a little dry. He felt absurd. "I got slammed. Not just slammed, though. I got slammed hard. Run over by a semi slammed. Spending twenty six hours in excruciating pain and utter terror slammed." Her voice became soft, almost a whisper. "And I couldn't let it happen again. Not for anything. Any_one_."

He nodded, understanding perfectly what she was saying.

"I had to protect myself, even if it meant ignoring…other things. I was looking out for myself. At least that's what I thought I was doing all these years. With you. Now, I don't know what I was doing."

"Did you think I'd betray you the way they did?" he asked, folding his hands together so that she couldn't see them shake.

"I was pretty sure you wouldn't. Especially as time went on. But I didn't care all that much about any of them, not even Bryce really. I mean, I cared for him I suppose, but not very deeply. They were just my team. A place to _be_. Even so, when they fed me to the FBI, it changed my life. It broke me." She took a shaky breath. "And even though I was almost certain you'd never betray me the way they did, a part of me knew that in the off chance that you _did_, it would absolutely destroy me. Because unlike the Larkins, you really got under my skin. And I already cared about you more than all of them put together in the first couple of weeks of our partnership. If you ever—"

"I would never," he interrupted vehemently, clambering over to her on his knees and grabbing her hands, making a point of looking straight into her eyes. "I would never _ever_ betray you."

"I know, Chuck," she said a little breathlessly. "I know that. And I knew it then. But that tiny bit of doubt…" Her eyes widened a little and she licked her lips. "I was so busy being afraid of the way you made me feel that I completely missed something that was right in front of my face."

He stared, waiting.

"All of this time, _you _have been looking out for me. From the very beginning. And somewhere along the way, I stopped fretting over always having to protect myself without even realizing that I'd stopped. And what that meant."

"Wh-What'd it mean?" he asked, flushing when his voice cracked.

"That I could trust you. That I could stop holding back and suppressing and…suffocating. That I could do…_this_." She leaned close and kissed him softly. When she pulled back, Chuck was afraid his heart might beat out of his chest. Or he'd cry.

No, he wasn't going to cry.

_Damn it. Do _not_ cry._

"I'm sorry, Chuck."

"Don't apologize."

She shrugged. "Okay."

A high pitched bark of laughter erupted from him and he tugged her into a hug. He pushed his face into her hair and nuzzled a bit. "I wish there was something I could do to make it all go away."

"I know you do. I wish you could, too. But…" She pulled back and framed his face with her hands. "I'm okay, Chuck."

"You're okay?" He gave her a dubious look, eyeing the tracks of tears down her face, and she smiled, ducking her head.

"Yeah. I know I sort of lost it—"

"Considering what you just told me, Sarah, I'd be worried about you being a fembot if you didn't lose it at least a little."

She flushed, even while giving him the signature you're-a-nerd look, then she buried herself in his embrace. "Thank you, Chuck."

"I didn't even d—"

"Shut up. You did." She glared at him with a raised eyebrow and he held his hands up in defense. He grinned widely and cupped her face, kissing her tenderly and easing her down to the mattress.

Chuck gently maneuvered himself on top of her and deepened the kiss, sighing when Sarah brought a hand up to drag through his curls. She pulled away breathlessly. "Hey. Don't you think we're continuing where we left off after earlier." She gasped when his lips slid down her neck and his teeth nipped at her collarbone. "Not happening," she finished with a sigh.

"No?"

"Mmmm," she hummed, and he felt the vibration of her voice in her chest as his lips moved over her skin there. "Mm mm. Nope."

"What if I acknowledge that I'm an idiot?" "I'll agree with you," she giggled, quite obviously enjoying his attentions. He chuckled and slid his arms around her, his fingers finding the clasp of her bra.

"And what if I tell you…" Chuck sighed and lifted his head, looking down into her eyes, and not for the first time acknowledging just how stunning Sarah Walker really was. How strong she was. The last three years of his life were difficult for so many reasons. The one-sided romance, the painful mornings of waking up with her inches away from him when he was unable to touch her, the fear that at any moment he'd do or say something that would send her running for the hills…

But it was all worth it. She was worth it. She was worth everything.

"What if I tell you that I will never let anything bad happen to you again? And that I'll be here for you for the rest of your life, if you want me?"

Sarah just looked up at him silently for a few moments, and then he saw her eyes swim with the start of tears. She gently smacked his chest with the back of her hand and giggled wetly. "Sap." Rubbing away the tear that escaped, Sarah met his gaze again. "You didn't have to say that, as much as I believe you'll make good on both of those things. I was joking about not continuing where we left off." She tugged his face close and rubbed her nose against his slowly. "You owe me," she said saucily, her fingers stroking along his jaw.

That special warmth in his belly was back again, roaring through him like a wildfire, setting everything in its path ablaze. The look in her eyes wasn't helping.

"I owe you, huh?"

"Mmm hm."

He brushed his lips against hers as her bra came off in his hand and he tossed it aside. "Well…" He kissed her again, reveling in the heady moan he received in reply before pulling back and grinning suavely down at her. "You should know that Bartowskis _hate_ owing people."

"Oh?"

"Mm, yes. I try to repay my debts _immediately_ if at all possible."

"Immediately?"

"That's right."

"Well, then, Bartowski, what are you waiting f—_Oh!_"

Words could not venture where he dragged his hands as he trailed a burning hot pattern over her skin with his lips, and the rest of the barriers were discarded over the side of the bed.

They peeled down the covers and tossed the pillows to the floor, crawling into the cocoon of warmth and grasping at one another's strength. Falling over the precipice together and meeting willingly and intensely.

They made love slowly, giving in to the fire that seemed to always exist between them. Sarah gave Chuck everything she had, and in return he was gentle, loving, devoting. They cradled each other, climbed to unknown heights and crashing back down again. Over and over.

There were tears on Sarah's face by the end of it, their mouths melding together as they rode out the waves and finally rested together, spent and energized all at the same time.

After awhile, and another more frenzied tousle that left the old wooden bed frame a little worse for wear, they pulled their clothes back on and checked out of the motel. Chuck challenged Sarah to a race to the Impala and they tore across the parking lot. He launched himself into the air to slide feet first over the hood of the car but his pant pocket caught on the chipped paint. He stopped smack dab in the center of the hood and ignored Sarah's peals of laughter, using his Converse to scoot the rest of the way and landing on the driver's side of the car. He pouted and gave her a sheepish shrug, checking his pants to make sure they were in one piece.

They got into the car, Sarah still bent forward, dying of laughter.

As Chuck drove them back onto the main road, a comfortable silence settled in the car. Sarah was leaning close, idly playing with the hair at the back of his head, peering out at the sprawling desert with a soft, relaxed smile.

Chuck was content.

More than content.

There wasn't a word in the English language that could really describe how he felt. The warmth and satisfaction and utter bliss, the feeling of wanting to stay in this moment forever, not to mention the just-had-amazing-sex glow.

He dropped his right hand on her leg and looked at her for a few seconds before turning to look back out at the road in front of them. "I love you."

Chuck could feel her watching him, the happy energy emitting from her body that was very close to his in spite of the console between them. "I love you, too, Chuck."

The grin that erupted on his face could not be tamed, even if he'd wanted to, and it grew even wider when she let out a short laugh and gave his hair a little tug.

Then something struck him, a small idea. And his giddiness and that nameless magnificent feeling combined to stoke the flames of that small idea so that it wasn't a small idea at all anymore.

In fact it was now a big idea.

He turned to glance at her. "Sarah. Can…" His voice faded and he licked his lips. "I have one more question for you. Just one." He let the words hang there between them as she turned her body in the seat to face him. He knew she was perhaps a little nervous about the question, which made what he was about to ask that much better.

"What is it, Chuck?"

Chuck reached behind his seat and groped around for a moment, before hoisting the golden elephant statue up in his large hand for her to see. "Are we gonna talk about the elephant in the car?"

* * *

**A/N: **I CANNOT BE TAMED

Look. I didn't even put punctuation at the end of that. Because!

I would love some reviews, though. You know it. I know it. Everyone knows it.

Look out for another chapter soon that will look behind the scenes at "Con Game Screwed". A little extra something that helped me get the emotion of this chapter right.

Thanks so much, you lot. You're aces.


	11. Con Game Cotton Mill

**A/N: **So while I was writing Con Game Screwed, I couldn't seem to get the emotions right. I couldn't get to the place that would explain why someone with a steely exterior like Sarah would be that broken-broken enough to be sobbing and shivering, et cetera. So I wrote the scene. I detailed what Sarah went through and it turned out to be really upsetting. It put me in the right mindset and it tore me up inside.

It worked!

But then I thought...If I needed this to get to the right place, if I needed this background, to see what Sarah really went through, maybe my readers need it too.

So here it is! Thanks again to **dettiot **for pre-reading!

Warning: Extra adult language and a lot of feels ahead. Proceed with caution.

* * *

**CON GAME COTTON MILL**

"Fuck this to hell," she murmured under her breath as she scraped her combat boots on tree stump to get the swamp muck off. She continued forward then, careful not to step in anymore as she skirted the tree line, keeping in the shadows as best she could in the late afternoon haze. Her clothes were sticking to her skin in the humidity, even though it was barely eighty degrees, but it was enough for her to whisper another curse. "How do people even live here?" she whispered to herself.

There was a broken down tractor, ancient by the looks of the rust caked on it, resting about twenty feet away from where she crouched. She dashed over to it, keeping low just in case Quentin Jones was watching out of one of the broken windows of the mill where he was rumored to have taken up residence.

Sarah waited behind the tractor, peering up over the oversized but flat tire to scope out each of the windows. There were two rows of windows on this face of the building, three on the top and three on the bottom, all very large, all broken to some extent.

The years had not been kind to the Hillford Lord Mill. When she and Georgia had researched the place, they found it to be the perfect hiding spot for a fugitive like Quentin Jones. A historical society in town had petitioned to have it officially made into a historical landmark for the state of South Carolina. There was even a brass plaque and everything in front of it.

But then nobody had paid to have it maintained.

So it sat there, sometimes watched by a hired guard, but only on certain nights of the week, and usually by a fat man named Huey who liked alligator jerkey and whiskey. Both while he was working.

Sarah didn't see any sign of Huey being there. She knew he drove a blue Ford truck with the front passenger door tied shut by his niece's jump rope. It was all a part of the research she'd done in the last two days.

But now the time had come. Huey wasn't there to bother her. Jones was inside. She took her gun out from where she'd stuck it in the back of her pants and quickly and silently ran across the dirt to the nearest window.

Crouched beneath it, she took a deep breath and pressed her back against the wall. Then she surged up and pointed her pistol through the glass, prepared to shoot Quentin Jones in the leg if he threatened her from inside. But it was silent, no sign of movement.

Letting out her breath, but keeping her guard up, she carefully maneuvered herself through the broken glass of the window and stepped inside.

Light filtered in through the windows, bright beams shining on the rusted machinery. A few spools still had bits of cotton on them, shining white in the sunlight that flooded over them. Dust seemed to permeate every breath she took and she wondered if being in here for longer than a few minutes might give her tuberculosis.

Leading with her gun, Sarah moved around the boiler and kept her eyes trained in the semi darkness for movement. She couldn't let him get the jump on her. She wouldn't. The Larkins depended on Quentin Jones' intel about the thief who took the Caillebotte painting. If they could get their hands on that painting, the pay off would be extensive.

She moved down each row, ready to pounce, ready to act at a moment's notice.

But after ten minutes, moving up the stairs to check the offices and back down again, even shining a flashlight into the machinery and around the ring frames on the ground floor, Sarah found the entire place empty.

Perhaps Quentin was off in the fields taking in the sun, or maybe even looking for his dinner in the swamps. She resolved to wait, and wait she did, for about ten minutes. She tucked herself against a spinning wheel in the shadows, her ears prepped to be able to hear Jones when he came in.

A half hour passed and she started feeling a nervous restlessness in her bones. This was the right place. Quentin Jones was here. Georgia had said as much and the woman was never wrong.

So where was he?

She felt like something was off. And her experiences told her that gut feelings were usually something one should pay attention to in this line of business. It was one of the first things she'd learned while on the lam with her father as a little girl.

Sarah hadn't even seen any signs that anyone had been inside of the building in years. A few old, empty bottles of whiskey from squatters who had probably moved on months or even years ago. But nothing that showed signs of a recent squatter. Or Quentin Jones.

Perhaps, she thought to herself, she was was jumping the gun. Too quick to jump to negative conclusions. Maybe Jones heard the Larkins were looking for him and he moved on. He could already be in another country because someone had warned him for all she knew. It was a simple enough explanation.

But then why was her sudden instinct to get the hell out?

She stood up from the wheel and took her gun back out from where she'd stashed it while she waited for Jones to appear, then moved towards the front door but stopped suddenly when she felt her cell phone vibrate in her front pocket.

She was relieved. It was probably Georgia telling her they made a mistake. Quentin Jones was somewhere else. In Idaho maybe. Or Nebraska even. He'd moved on a long time ago. In fact he'd never been here in the first place. It was a wild goose chase. It was time for her to go back to headquarters.

But when Sarah fished her phone out of her pocket and held it in her gloved hand, she saw Bryce's name on the screen. With a frown, she flipped the phone open and brought it to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Sarah."

"Bryce, Quentin Jones isn't here. I've searched the place high and low. It doesn't even look like he was ever here," she said before he could continue.

There was a long pause.

"Bryce?"

"Sarah, I—I'm sorry."

"What?"

"I didn't mean for any of this to happen. It was fun and all, but if I thought this would happen, I never would have gotten involved."

His words sent a chill down her spine, even though she had no idea what he was talking about. "What was fun? Mean for what to happen? What are you talking about?" Her heart was racing. "Bryce? Talk to me. What's happening?"

"Last week, Theo saw me leave your place in the middle of the night. After we were together."

"Oh. Well shit. Can we talk about this later when I get back?"

"Sarah, just fucking listen to me for once."

She blanched. "Jesus, okay. So he saw you. So what? Someone was bound to find out about us sooner or later. I mean, it sucks but—"

"Sarah! He told Mom."

She felt her blood run cold and forced herself to take deep, quiet breaths. "And?"

"She was pissed, obviously. So was Dad."

"Yeah? Well, what business is it of theirs? It's not like it's affecting the missions. It's just sex."

"I know that! But they don't. We had a family meeting," he rushed out before she could say anything. A family meeting? What the fuck was that? And why wasn't she there for it? She felt even colder, and her knees weren't working very well. She leaned back against the nearest piece of machinery and nervously rubbed her free hand on her thigh.

Bryce cleared his throat. "They decided it was too dangerous."

"What's too dangerous?"

"Having you around—around me. So that's it."

"What's it? I'm off the team or something?"

"Something like that."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Bryce? I'm not allowed to come back or what?" she snapped, feeling anger start to overcome the nerves. "No! That's not how this works! You're the one who started this whole thing."

"That's a load of bull, Sarah. You were as into me as I was into you."

"Keep telling yourself that, Blue Eyes. Look, put your mom on the phone and I'll explain everything. I also need to tell her Jones isn't here."

"Sarah, Mom doesn't know I'm calling you. I called on my own. To tell you I'm sorry. To apologize."

"Okay, you're sorry. Tell—" Suddenly everything around her turned to ice. Realization clenched at her throat and nearly suffocated her. "Bryce," she breathed softly. "There _is no Quentin Jones_." It wasn't a question. She knew there wasn't. She knew it without even a fraction of doubt. Quentin Jones didn't exist.

"No, Sarah. There isn't."

Her knees gave out and she slid from her perch to the ground, her hand shaking as she brought it to her mouth. Tears were gathering in her eyes. "Well, fuck," she muttered, blinking away as much moisture as possible as the ground beneath her boots became blurry.

"Now you see?"

"I see."

"The feds were looking for Carl, Sarah. And we've had to lie low for such a long time. Mom let it slip to the right informants that Carl was hiding out in Hillford Lord Mill and it eventually worked its way to the FBI."

Sarah leaned her head back and cried silently, feeling burning hot anger searing through her. Betrayal didn't even begin to describe what this was. This was much worse. Her father had made her climb a tree in a park in Maryland once, and he left her there for an hour while he dodged some angry clients. She'd felt betrayed then and hadn't spoken to him the rest of the day once he actually came back to get her, contrite though he was.

This, though…

"Sarah?"

She listened to Bryce's voice and imagined the room where the Larkins had their "family meeting", all of them looking to Georgia for guidance. They probably really laid into Bryce about getting involved with her. And he probably sat there and took it. And when they decided to let Sarah take the fall, she imagined him agreeing.

"Sarah, you there?"

She never should have let this happen. Bryce never should have let this happen. No, no this wasn't about Bryce. This was about her.

"Sarah! Jesus Christ, say something! I'm sorry! You gotta believe me! Say _something_!"

She didn't say anything. She pulled her cell away from her ear and snapped it in half in her hands, slamming it repeatedly into the ground until it was chips of plastic and silicon. Tears cascaded down her cheeks as she climbed to her feet and began stomping on it, over and over and over again. She finally stopped, catching herself against the ring frame and hanging her head, allowing herself some time to cry a little harder.

_You stupid idiot. You stupid fucking idiot. _

With a giant sniff, covering her face in her hands to collect herself and swiping at her nose and cheeks, she stood up straight again and knelt down, picking up the pieces of her phone and shoving them in her pocket.

She had to get out. Right now.

But when she heard the humming sound of approaching cars and the crunching of tires against the dirt as they stopped outside of the mill, she knew she was too late. That's why Bryce had called. Not to apologize, or maybe he did call to apologize…But the real reason was to keep her on the phone, to keep her from running, to stall her until the feds arrived. Fighting down the urge to vomit and scream bloody murder at the same time, she began backing down the nearest row of machines. The FBI was outside of that mill. She could hear them clambering out of the their vans. She could hear them cocking their guns, strapping on the bullet proof vests.

All she could think of was her father's voice late at night when she was just a little girl, telling her never to do anything to end up in prison. It was ridiculous, a con man telling his daughter this at night before bed, after they'd just conned a businessman out of one day's salary a few hours earlier. But he'd described the most terrible things…the way the guards ignored bullying, the food with worms in it and sometimes cockroaches, and the way inmates were found dead in their bunks, strangled to death…but how and by whom?

She still had nightmares about prison.

The small enclosed space. The lack of sunlight. The darkness surrounding her. The lack of freedom.

Being dependent on others for every little thing. Food, clothing, sleep, medicine…even going outside…

Sarah felt an invisible entity grab hold of her throat in a vise-grip. She couldn't breathe.

Stumbling towards the back of the mill, she moved to the stairs that led to the manager's office, hoping she might escape out of one of those windows. The fall would be painful. Maybe she'd twist or sprain her ankle. But she could roll out of it and maybe then she'd be in the clear.

Tears still streamed down her face as she moved up a few steps…but then she halted when she heard the FBI vans skid to a halt at the back of the building as well. She was completely surrounded. This was the end of the line. Fear threatened to freeze her limbs. She wanted to sink down to the ground and wait. Just wait.

What would they do? Would they handcuff her? Throw a hood over her head? Toss her in the back of the van? Knock her out and she'd wake up on a metal cot in a windowless cell?

There was a loud beep outside and then the sound of a man speaking through a megaphone. She couldn't understand him. She didn't care to understand him. She couldn't go out there. She couldn't allow herself to be taken away in handcuffs for a crime she didn't even commit! Not when she'd done so many other things and escaped without the feds catching up to her. She couldn't believe she'd allowed herself to be played so easily.

They were coming inside. She could hear the glass breaking in the front of the mill, the door being kicked by an FBI agent's boot. There was yelling of commands, more guns cocking.

Jack Walker's lazy drawl drifted into her mind. _You gotta be in control of your own fate, Darlin'. You make your own fate. Don't let anyone take that away from you. Not me. Not anybody. And especially not the feds._

Sarah's eyes snapped open. She wasn't letting them take her to prison. She'd die first.

And like hell she was going to die today.

Her gaze rapidly swept the area around her until it settled on the opening to the smaller of the mill's two smokestacks. The other was closer to the front door where the feds were just beginning to break through. She had no time.

Scurrying over to the opening while pulling her gloves off and stuffing them in her pocket, she knelt down and looked inside to see plenty of soot there. Soot that could have potentially been from the nineteen tens for all she knew. It would have to do.

It looked to be almost fifteen inches in diameter and she was pretty sure her shoulder width was a little over fourteen inches. She barely fit, she discovered as her shoulders pushed uncomfortably into the opening. She wiggled as best she could, using her hands and elbows to push her weight upwards, grunting in pain, the tears starting again. It smelled like rust and mold and fire. She could almost taste it, the smell was so strong. So she did her best to pull her shirt up over her nose and mouth, before continuing to wriggle herself further and further up the chimney, her hands scratching against the residue as she whimpered softly.

She finally got herself into a position where her feet wouldn't show and she braced her knees against the walls. Her eyes were watering pretty bad. She couldn't stand the waiting as she heard the FBI agents swarm the place. And a part of her even begged some higher power to strike her down and put her out of her misery before she came to her senses and realized how foolish that was.

Sarah bit her lip, listening closely to the sounds of the feds sweeping the area, calling out to each other, yelling "area clear" to each other, kicking over empty crates and whistling. The whistling was the worst. She didn't know who it was, but it was one person. He walked past the smokestack a few times, his footsteps slow, the whistling low and eerie. She thought maybe he knew she was there, that he was messing with her, driving her mad with his whistling until his head poked into the opening by her feet and he said a sinister, "Surprise!"

But that didn't happen.

Not for a long while.

Suddenly she saw a light by her feet. A flashlight. She didn't know how much time had passed, how long she'd been wedged in the chimney, but it must have been hours if they were using flashlights. She tilted her head back as best she could and looked up. There was no sunlight at the end of the chimney. It was nighttime. That meant she had been in there at least two hours, if not more.

The flashlight swept over the bottom of the chimney again and she almost sighed in relief. If they found her, they'd get her out. They'd take her out of this death trap she'd wedged herself into. Maybe, she thought to herself desperately, she should just call out to them and alert them to her presence. They'd pull her out. She'd be able to breathe again. Where her shirt properly instead of having it pushed up against her face.

But then the cartoonish exaggerations of the horrific prison that pervaded her nightmares ever since she was a child swept into her mind, and she bit her tongue to keep silent. She couldn't go there.

Sarah thought maybe she was losing consciousness, but she wasn't. The darkness was intensifying as the sun went down—that was all.

Just…a lot of darkness.

She thought maybe this was worse than prison. Being wedged in a chimney, crying silently, having someone whistling a tune she couldn't place as he paced back and forth past the opening. Were the walls getting tighter? Were they shrinking?

Was that sweat? Or was she crying again? Or were her eyes just watering again?

She couldn't tell.

The flashlight swept over the opening at her feet again and she looked down as best she could, hearing the muffled voices outside of her chimney but not being able to place what was being said. But the beam of light stayed where it was.

She pressed her face and torso as close to the wall in front of her as possible, aware of the black soot rubbing against her forehead and shirt but not quite caring…except for the asphyxiating smell that the shirt wasn't really helping with anymore.

Then she dragged a hand as quietly as possible out from where it was wedged between the wall and her hip bone, her fingers finding the butt of her pistol where it was stuffed into the back of her pants. Feeling the cool metal against her palm was the first time since Bryce had called her on the phone that she'd felt some semblance of control.

The gun would do what she told it to.

She unfolded her arm and pointed the pistol down at the ground, managing to find a clearing where she wouldn't shoot her own leg or foot if she pulled the trigger. She unlocked the safety carefully, slowly, silently.

If the wielder of that flashlight walked up to the chimney, they'd get a bullet in their head. She didn't care.

This was the worst kind of torment, the waiting to be discovered. The whistling had stopped at least.

She heard the muffled sound of voices again, then a loud barking laugh.

_Please God_, she prayed, _don't let them start a fire._

It was a ridiculous thought. What reason would they have to light a fire? And this wasn't a fireplace. But the thought of having a fire lit under her, suffocating to death and burning at the same time…

She almost lost the contents of her stomach, swallowing repeatedly until the sensation went away.

Somebody cursed and the beam of light disappeared. The sound of boots moving around the chimney never went away, though.

For hours, she drifted between praying for death and giving in to silent, bitter tears. The pain in her shoulders, in her biceps, in her thighs and knees was unbearable. Her neck was so stiff she'd decided not to move it anymore and instead let her forehead sag against the wall.

Her stomach hurt from hunger and her throat was dryer than the Mojave Desert. But the tears kept coming.

She imagined the FBI had set up a perimeter around the mill. They were probably searching the grounds for her. Or rather, for Carl. Since he was their original target. Maybe that was why they hadn't looked in the chimney. Carl would never fit inside of it. She was a third his size and _she _barely fit.

The footsteps continued and became background noise to the thoughts swimming through her head. She was afraid she was barely lucid. And then what? …Unconsciousness?

She wished. Although if she lost consciousness, she might slip out of the chimney without realizing it and land in a barely-living heap at some FBI upstart's feet. And fuck that. She wasn't going out like this. The idiot criminal who tried to hide from the FBI in a damn chimney.

Finally, her thoughts settled on the past year of her life, and the mistakes she'd made. She hated herself for everything that had happened. And Bryce. And his mother. The whole damn Larkin family.

Georgia Larkin had stamped out the independence Sarah had established before she joined up with the Larkins, after her father had abandoned her. The woman constantly put Sarah in the lowest, least active position during missions. Making her "watch and learn". Sending her on menial errands. Sarah sought Georgia's approval and became half-desperate for any scrap of responsibility she'd give her. It was so degrading…but because she was learning so much, more than she'd ever learned from her dad, she let it happen. He had lines he rarely crossed, moral guidelines, but the Larkins had no such inhibitions, nothing to hold them back. They accomplished more that way, never giving anyone an inch, acting without mercy or remorse. And for the first time in…well since she could remember, the Larkins gave her a stationary place to belong. Even though she never really felt like she belonged with them, nor did she fully trust them, she stayed in one place for a whole year. It was…unprecedented. And she realized now how much it had made her lower her guard.

Just enough to make her an easy target. Too easy.

And now she was stuffed in an abandoned cotton mill's smokestack, everything hurting so badly that she was practically shivering in pain. And the tears still trailed down her cheeks, dripping from her jaw and landing on her twisted arms.

She didn't know how many hours passed, but the voices outside of her prison continued, the boots marching past—back and forth, back and forth. The loud scratching of walky-talkies permeating the silence sometimes being the only evidence that they were still there. Still looking.

Sunlight streamed down from the top of the smokestack when Sarah opened her eyes again. She was dizzy and felt ill. Incomprehensibly hungry and thirsty. She couldn't feel one arm though she couldn't tell which one. But the good news was that she'd gotten sleep, it seemed. She didn't know how much.

But it was morning.

Her gun was pressing against the small of her back again but she couldn't remember when or how she'd put it back. She winced and bit her lip to keep from letting out a pitiful whimper.

And then the tears started again and she thumped her forehead repeatedly against the soot-lined wall.

God, she was in so much pain. And she was so tired. And desperate for fresh air. Ice water. _Any _water. She cried harder and had to shove her mouth into her shoulder, biting down to keep whoever was standing outside of her chimney from hearing her sobs.

Nothing in her entire life had ever felt worse than this.

And she vowed that if she lived through this, she would never trust anyone again. Not that she'd even really trusted the Larkins. She was done with partners, done with teams. For the rest of her life, she'd work alone.

And to hell with sex and men.

She felt the restless, manic beginnings of mad laughter threaten to spill out of her at that thought. Cons and sex didn't mix. Another peal of laughter threatened.

Sarah Walker knew she was losing it. And she couldn't stay here any longer.

Maybe if she tilted the gun at just the right angle, she could get the bullet to go in her head when she pulled the trigger.

She cursed herself for that thought. Suicidal musings were beneath her. She gave herself at least that much credit.

The young woman only hoped she wouldn't starve to death in here and then years later, the historical society would give up their claim on the mill and it would be bulldozed. And they'd find the bones of a young woman, about twenty two years old, wedged in the chimney.

The FBI would curse themselves for not looking there when they'd gotten that tip about the forger.

She supposed that was a small comfort.

A very, very small and not very reassuring comfort.

In fact, it wasn't a comfort at all.

More hours passed, and again night fell. It had been awhile since she'd heard anything save the crickets chirping outside, the occasional hoot of an owl or screech of a bat.

Sarah couldn't do it anymore. She couldn't stay wedged in the chimney. She'd been in it for a little over a day. She was starving, dehydrated, in so much pain that it was finally brushing aside her efforts at meditation and sending her into fits of soft moaning.

She needed to get out.

And if the FBI was waiting there for her…so be it.

With a grunt, she unfolded her arms and grit her teeth to stave off the excruciating ache. Sniffling against the tears, she let out a keening moan of pain as she squeezed her way down. Her limbs must have swollen a bit because she felt like it was even harder this time to maneuver herself down.

She cried pitifully, her fingers straining against the wall as her feet cleared the opening.

Using her feet against the edge for leverage, she managed to wiggle down inch by unendurable inch, until her hands finally cleared the opening. She felt the cool night air against her fingers and grappled desperately at the edge, tugging herself out the rest of the way until she lie in a pile of half-working bones and muscles, crying with ragged breaths and holding her wrist to her mouth to try to stave the agonizing sobs.

She didn't know how long she stayed there, weeping harder than she'd ever remembered having done before, waiting for the FBI to cuff her and drag her away. But they never did, and she started to realize that they'd given up the search…at least for the time being. They weren't here.

She painfully pushed herself to her knees and fell forward against the nearest surface she could find, which happened to be a crate that might give her splinters. But what were splinters compared to starvation and agonizing pain, really? She was pitiful.

Still sniffling, she managed to get herself to her feet, but tipped over a little. She caught herself against the wall and waited. Realizing she might not have all night to let herself recuperate, or at least get the feeling back in her limbs, she hobbling towards the nearest window.

She thought she might just go the rest of the way to the door, but she just wanted out. Out of this death trap, out of this building, away from Hillford Lord Mill, and out of South Carolina. But first…she had to get out of the mill.

Glad that her brain was still functioning, she remembered the gloves she'd taken off before venturing into the smokestack and tugged them out of her pocket, pulling them on again. And then she punched the glass to make a larger hole for her to fit through.

Carefully climbing back through the window, her arms shaking with the effort, she slid a little and felt a shard of glass cut a small gash in her forearm through her long sleeve shirt. She let out a short yelp and pulled herself the rest of the way through and landed in the dirt on her back.

The wind was knocked out of her, but when she heard a loud muffled yell from around the building, followed by a barked "Who's that?!", she leapt to her feet and sprinted towards the trees.

"Hey! You! Wait there! Whatchu doin'?" Huey roared after her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw him moving as quickly as his wide girth would take him along the building. She knew the FBI would have found her car and taken it. So that was out of the question.

If she could somehow circle around and take Huey's Ford, that'd be her best option. The nearest civilization was easily more than five miles out. And she wasn't in the proper state to make those five miles. Even if she did, she'd be caught.

No, she needed a vehicle. She needed to get out of the state.

She ducked behind the tractor and heard Huey huffing and puffing.

"Hey! I saw you! You done get b'hind that there tractor! You get outta there! I gotta gun!"

Sarah tracked his breathing as he rounded the face of the building she'd just left. She had to time it just right. Picking up a small stone, she chucked it low across the ground until it thumped against a tree about twenty paces away.

Huey took the bait and hightailed it towards the spot where the stone connected. "You better come on out then with your hands up an' I won't hurtcha!"

Counting down from three, she bolted from behind the tractor and moved across the opposite side of the building, making it around the corner just as she heard the report of his pistol and heard it connect with the dirt behind her.

Good.

He'd been drinking.

"Hey! You git back 'ere, damn it!"

She could hear him hollering breathlessly and knew he'd try to shoot again. They always did, these guards who were given guns without proper training.

The gun went off behind her and a cloud of dust shot up about five feet to the left of her. She kept her legs pumping until she reached his truck. The yelling stopped behind her and a bullet slammed against the side of the truck.

She yelped at how close that one had come.

"NO, THAT'S MAH TRUCK!"

Good ol' Huey left the keys in the ignition.

The truck revved to life and another gunshot sounded. She ducked down with her hand over her head, hearing the back of the truck struck by the bullet, then she released the parking brake, put it into drive, and slammed her foot on the accelerator.

The Ford roared down the dirt road and burst through the wooden gate Huey must have neglected to lock when he drove in. The poor fellow hadn't probably gone to his eleven-dollar-per-hour guard job thinking he'd have to shoot at a wanted criminal or that he'd have his truck stolen.

But such was life.

As she swerved onto the main road a few minutes later, she began to cry again, the adrenaline wearing off, the fatigue washing over her like a tidal wave. But she had hours to drive yet before she could stop, before she could ice her arms and legs, shower, and sleep.

Her father had always used the old adage "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger", but Sarah knew now it was a load of horse shit. Sure, she'd gone through the ringer and come out the other side in one piece—for the most part. But she didn't feel stronger.

She'd never felt weaker in all her life.

* * *

**A/N: **Emotions. Everywhere.

Just a small note: I researched old cotton mills and such and learned quite a lot, but never could quite figure out the details of smokestacks/chimneys in the mills. So I made it up. I tried. Hope it worked.

Thanks for reading. And thanks for the heaps of kind words you all sent me after Con Game Screwed! You're all amazing!


	12. Con Game Vengeance

**A/N: **Thanks for all of the positive feedback about the last chapter. Some of you understood why I didn't include it in "Con Game Screwed". But for everyone else...If I'd slotted it into the last chapter, it would have interrupted the emotional flow, the moment between Chuck and Sarah. And I hate doing that for storytelling purposes. I'd rather let my characters emote without interruption. (wink!)

Of course I must thank **dettiot **because I only had the smallest little "wouldn't it be funny if" idea and then she said YOU MUST WRITE THIS. So I did. And then she read it for me and enjoyed it. And helped me brainstorm. Because she's the coolest writing buddy.

Without further ado, another installment of _Chuck Versus the Con Game_!

Oh wait. **Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

Enjoy!

* * *

**CON GAME VENGEANCE**

"You know, no spy film is complete without a good…" Chuck grunted and hoisted his pack up next to him. "…air duct scene."

Sarah smirked over her shoulder at him and blew a wisp of hair from her face. "Yeah well…we're not _in _a spy film. And I don't know why I have to explain this to you during nearly every con we pull."

"Oh, come on," he whispered, scooting along on his belly behind her. "Work with me, Sarah."

"The only reason I'm even talking to you right now is to distract myself from the fact that I'm in a tiny, enclosed space with questionable air circulation," she rasped at him, tugging her pack along.

"Well, I've got something fun we can try." There was a tone in his voice that sent a shiver up Sarah's back.

"Oh really? And what's that?"

There was a long pause. And then…

"I spy with my naked eye…a perfect behind. Sarah, have I told you what those pants do t—Ow!"

She was grinning wildly while reaching a hand back to repeatedly smack him in the head. He laughed as quietly as possible while attempting to fend her off. As she turned back to continue crawling, she shook her head. "I swear to God, Chuck. I don't know why I put up with you."

"It's the sex," he replied easily, earning a snort.

"Maybe." Sarah stopped crawling suddenly. "Uh oh."

"Uh oh? Uh oh what?" Chuck craned his neck to try to see around her.

Sarah scooted over and pressed herself close to the wall of the duct, waving for him to join her. "C'mere and see for yourself."

He took her pack and wedged it behind him, next to his own, so that he could carefully crawl up beside her. As it was, they were a little cramped, but Sarah had half of her body leaning over Chuck's back by the time he maneuvered himself up to look at the iPhone that she held in her left hand. The map he'd programmed into it was malfunctioning. "Oh hell," he muttered, flicking the screen.

"Does that _ever _work? Flicking the screen like that?"

"Well, it couldn't hurt to try," he whispered, craning his neck to look at her. She just smirked in response. "Are we sure the duct can handle both our weights in the same spot like this?"

"So far so good," she shrugged.

"Because I'm seeing a situation in my mind right now where the screws pop and we crash down right on top of a security guard."

"Well, then the security guard would be out of commission. Good for us."

"You—" He stopped. "That's actually good logic. Bravo."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Okay, this isn't working."

"Yes. We've discussed this." She had no way to hold her weight up when she reached down with her other hand to play with the iPhone, which meant she and Chuck were just a little bit closer than they'd been before. It was a good thing, then, that they'd already been intimate for well over a year. Otherwise this might be awkward. "Well, we should just keep crawling until we find the room then. The map's not working."

"Maybe there's some sort of interference with the metal of the duct?"

"Who knows? You first this time?" she asked, rolling her body off of his so that he could move again.

"I guess so. Does it really matter?"

"No. It's just that you've gotten to stare at my ass for the last twenty minutes and I feel like I should get a turn."

He grinned widely, his teeth glinting in the low light. "Somebody woke up from her nap this afternoon on the saucy side of the bed," he murmured in a low voice, slowly crawling forward to take the lead.

With a mischievous smirk, she reached up and pinched his behind, causing him to spasm a little and stare at her with wide eyes. "Well, _somebody_ woke me up in a very special way and now I have no choice but to be saucy," she half-sang.

"I thought you'd like that."

"What girl wouldn't?"

Chuck snorted and crawled forward as Sarah scooted after him, admiring his behind like she promised. "I don't pretend to know about any of the fairer sex's likes or dislikes."

"You do pretty well with mine," she responded.

He stopped crawling and looked over his shoulder at her. "Yeah, well. You're not like other girls, Sarah Walker." With a wink, he resumed crawling.

The next few minutes were silent, save the sound of their bodies and packs dragging along the dusty metal. For a museum, the quality of cleanliness left much to be desired. But since it wasn't the Louvre or something else of equal popularity and importance, it seemed this was the best they could hope for.

Chuck stopped suddenly and groaned, dropping his forehead onto his outstretched arm.

"What is it?" Sarah asked, resting a hand on his ankle.

"A fork in the duct."

"A fork in a duck? What?!"

He flipped onto his back in a surprisingly graceful maneuver and lifted his head, giving her a look that very clearly said 'What the hell?!'

"No. Not a fork in a _duck_. What—Why would I even say that?"

"Maybe you're hungry. You've said many a stupider thing when you're hungry. Actually, just in general."

He was offended for a moment, then thought about it, and nodded. "Okay, yes. Fine. I have. But what I _actually said_ was that there's a fork. In this duct. This air duct."

"Enunciate your consonants, boy, and we won't have a problem." She smirked when he made a face, then gestured ahead of them. "And that's not really a problem. You go left, I go right. Simple."

"We're splitting up?"

"We have to. A stitch in time, as they say. Come on. Get a move on."

He pouted a bit, but listened to her, turning back onto his belly and crawling towards the fork. They'd spent close to a half hour crawling around in the ducts of the old museum. Thanks to the obscurity and sheer age of the place, online maps to the museum's layout couldn't be accessed, but Chuck managed to scrounge up some old plans from the nearby library. They were from the nineteen fifties, but in the long run, Chuck was reassured nothing had changed since then.

But they still had no idea where the diamond was being showcased, as the museum had yet to open the exhibit officially, which meant they couldn't just walk in the front door…And if they _had _just walked in the front door, Chuck and Sarah would be met with a few overzealous guards who carried weapons they hadn't been trained to use.

And the museum hadn't printed pamphlets with maps of where the diamond would be kept yet. _And_ the museum was massive, with sprawling rooms.

So they took to the ducts.

Chuck tapped his ear, winked at her, and crawled off to the left.

Sarah fitted her ear piece quickly and then crawled down the right side of the fork, peering through each vent she moved over and slipping a dental mirror through the grating to see if she could spot the diamond in its casing. Another ten minutes passed this way and she heard Chuck's voice in her ear.

"You hear me?"

She pulled her watch up to her lips, picking her words carefully. "Loud and clear."

"So, listen. I've hit a dead end. This is my drop. I'm going in."

"Wait, the duct stopped on your end? Already?"

"Yeah. I'm assuming once I get in this room, the map will work on my phone again. Which means the tracking device I put in your watch will also work. I've overlaid it so that I will see a beautiful little red dot on the map wherever you are. I'll come find you."

She smiled to herself. "You brilliant nerd."

"I know. What would you do without me?"

"Probably would've died many times over by now," she said, awkwardly continuing to crawl with her wrist still held up to her mouth.

"And you'd be sexually frustrated."

She stopped crawling and glared, even though he couldn't see it. "You're a stinker."

"Yeah, but I'm your stinker." She was flooded with warmth at that, but his voice was suddenly clipped when he spoke again. "'Kay, I'm through. Going into the room. Radio silent except for emergencies. Got it?"

"Got it. Be careful, will ya?"

"You too."

_I love you_.

She wondered if maybe he was thinking the same thing.

But there was only a soft crackling in her ear. Pushing back the tiny spike of worry for his safety, she continued crawling and peering into each room through the vents. Another seven minutes passed and her limbs were beginning to ache. She slipped the mirror into the next grating and peered at it, spotting the soft glitter of the gem, encased in a glass lid, soft velvet laid around the marble block the diamond was propped on.

She grabbed her pack and fished for her toolkit, extracting a screwdriver and carefully winding her fingers around the metal grate to make sure it didn't fall through while she worked on the screws. With the delicacy of the work, and the need to do it silently, it took close to three minutes for her to remove the vent and set it aside in the duct.

Then she slowly eased her head down and glanced around the room, eyeing the corners of the ceiling and the wall surfaces for any kind of video recording equipment or alarm system. She couldn't spot anything, but to be safe, she went in her pack and pulled a canister out. She shook it a little and hung her arm down as far as it would go, straining to keep from falling out of the duct. And then she sprayed, watching the fog-like vapor hover around the diamond's case, then spread along the floor.

There were no red lasers, nothing Mission:Impossible about the room, and she was confident enough to pull back into the duct, put the spray away, and slip the straps of the pack onto her shoulders. With the ease of a gymnast, she lowered herself out of the duct and hung there for a few moments to get her bearings.

With a deep breath, she dropped to the ground about ten feet from the diamond and scoped out the room from her crouched position as the fog began to slowly clear. Trusting Chuck's assurances that he'd disabled the security cameras, she rose to her full height and swept her gaze around the room.

Nothing.

She carefully stepped up close to the diamond, taking a moment to admire the way it glinted under the spotlight that streamed down from the ceiling. Then she quickly tugged a pair of gloves from her back pocket and slipped them on.

She heard a loud click behind her ear and stopped, her blood running cold. Maybe she'd underestimated the amount of security?

Holding her hands up on either side of her head, she rolled her eyes to the ceiling and let out a sigh. Then she turned around with a bored look on her face. She wasn't sure what she'd expected to see when she turned around.

What she _actually _saw made her insides turn to water. She stepped back and almost bumped the stand that the diamond rested on.

Sarah Walker was seeing a ghost. Or…the closest thing to it. The last person she wanted or needed to see ever again.

"Jesus Christ, what are you doin' here?" Bryce asked, his eyes wide. "Sarah, I thought—" He kept his gun trained on her, his hand trembling like _he _was the one seeing the ghost.

"What?" she rasped, her throat drier than the Sahara. "That I was dead?"

"Or in prison."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Th-That was years ago. How did you get out?"

"I know you tried hard to make sure I _didn't_, but you fuckers underestimated me. That's how. Now lower your piece so that I can get my diamond."

His eyes lost their shock and hardened instead. "Sorry, Blondie." She nearly growled at the nickname she remembered him using before he willingly threw her to the wolves. "That diamond belongs to the Larkins."

A spike of fear and utter helplessness washed over her. _Please God, they can't be here. Please let it just be Bryce. _Another terrible pang of near-debilitating anguish nearly brought her to her knees. Chuck was in this building somewhere. And if the rest of the Larkins were here too, he'd be outnumbered.

"There isn't shit in this whole world that belongs to the Larkins. Whatever you need, you steal," she snapped, successfully keeping the quiver from her voice. She wished she knew where Chuck was.

"Kettle and pot, Blondie."

Sarah ignored him and swallowed the rising panic. "Still feeding your mother the souls of children?"

His eyes flashed and she felt a deep stab of satisfaction before he answered, his voice measured. "I don't want to have to finish the job I started all those years ago in that cotton mill, Sarah. But I will. Step aside, I'll grab the diamond, and we both go our separate ways. I won't even tell my team I saw you."

So the Larkins _were _here. It had been foolish to hope Bryce had come alone, broken away from his family perhaps to pursue his own solo career.

"Your team, huh? You mean your brothers?"

"That's right. They're all here."

There was a crackle in Sarah's ear then and she saw Bryce's eye twitch before she heard Chuck's panting voice. "Hey, Catwoman," he said, a tone of barely disguised affection tinging his words. She almost cried. "Catwoman, come in. You there?" Then she heard him breathe a soft curse and there was more panting.

Bryce waved his gun a little and smirked, tapping his ear. Of course he could hear Chuck. The Larkins had hacked into their feed and had been listening the whole time.

"Catwoman? Come on. Say something."

Sarah breathed in sharply, her heart breaking a little at the panic in Chuck's voice. He was hiding. Or running. One of the two. She could hear it in his breathing.

Bryce nodded his head and she knew what he wanted her to do. Act like nothing was amiss.

"I'm here. Found the package," she said softly into her watch. "What's your status, Batman?"

"Good. Good, you found it. That's good." A pause. "Um. I'm a little, uh, tied up at the moment." The Larkin boys. They'd found him. Chuck was outnumbered. "You have to finish the mission without me and I'll meet you at home base. Got it?"

Sarah had to fight her emotional turmoil back from her face. Where Bryce was concerned, Chuck was just her partner. Nothing more. "Got it," she said as flatly as possible, fixing Bryce with a glare to disguise the intense worry she was feeling at the moment. She couldn't lose Chuck. The diamond, her freedom, none of it would have any meaning if she couldn't share it with him.

"Hey Catwoman." Another pause. "You've got this. Enjoy it." Then his radio went silent.

The worry and fear were gone suddenly. Confidence warmed her and she could almost feel herself straightening, the tension leaving her shoulders.

She had this.

"Got yourself a partner, huh?"

"For now," she shrugged.

"Sleeping with him, too?" Sarah narrowed her eyes and Bryce looked a little like he'd regretted saying that. "That was a little below the belt, wasn't it? I apologize for that. I shouldn't be giving you such a hard time, since I'm standing here with a gun to your head, and my brothers are going to kill your Batman when they find him." Bryce paused and bit his cheek a little, his eyes widening. "If they haven't already."

Sarah tried to ignore that last statement. It wouldn't help any to dwell on what might be happening to Chuck at the moment. Instead, she focused on her present predicament.

When all else fails, one stalls for time.

So she snorted and made an 'aww' face. "Ohhh, Bryyyce. They're letting _you_ get the diamond? Is this the first time they let you get out of the van?"

Bryce worked his jaw and she delighted in how easy it was to get to him. "You know, I felt guilty about what happened."

"Oh really? That's nice to hear," she said, her voice dripping in sarcasm.

"But now I think maybe you got what you deserved." Sarah resisted the urge to lash out. All of her teasing and disparaging aside, Bryce was a skilled con man, a proficient fighter, and quick besides. That meant any wrong movement and she'd have a bullet between her eyes.

She gently lowered her hands to her sides and he stepped closer. "Keep your hands where I can see 'em," he warned. "Look, Sarah. To be honest, even though you're being a bitch right now, I'm glad you got out. I'm glad you're not in prison. I really liked you."

Sarah rolled her eyes. That made what he did so much worse. If he'd just been interested in sex and nothing else, his betrayal made more sense. Even though there was no excuse, it would at least be an explanation.

But if he'd actually liked her, felt something more than physical attraction, then he was just a coward. A yellow-livered, spineless son of a bitch. Not even an ounce of courage in him. She might have felt sorry for him if he wasn't standing in front of her with a gun pointed at her face.

His brothers were probably milling around in the museum, having already murdered the poor guards because it was easier and quicker that way. And Chuck was out there with them.

In the meantime, his bitch mother would be watching it all unfold from the van down the street, picking her teeth with the bones of a unicorn or something else majestic and endangered.

"I'd hate to undo all that hard work you did to get out of that cotton mill, Sarah. But if you don't move away from that diamond right now, I'm going to kill you."

"Oh, fuck you. I hate you so much, you know that?" She scrunched her face up in absolute disgust. "I just crawled through dusty-ass air ducts for half an hour to get in this God damn room, not to mention the prep for this job that took months. I'm not just handing it over to the family that ruined my life."

"Come on, Sarah." His eyes were suddenly bright, a little desperate. "I really don't wanna do this," he rasped through his teeth. "You're alone. Your guy is dead." Bryce tapped his ear. "Hear that? Silence. My brothers tore him apart." Sarah felt her knees weaken and everything else start to shake, but she pushed it all back. She knew better. "Even if you get out of this room, you won't get far," Bryce continued. "And the rest of my family will shoot you on sight. They won't be as forgiving."

"Forgiving? What the hell did _I _do that warrants your forgiveness? _I'm_ the one that ended up hiding from the feds, you dick head!" She swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. Ever since that afternoon in the motel with Chuck when she'd told him the entire story, bared her soul, sobbed in his arms, the memory had been much less painful. A year had come and gone and she'd come to terms with it, embraced the new life she had with Chuck. A full life. That day of terror now went hand in hand with a good memory—a fantastic memory, really. The memory of Chuck's arms around her, his face while he listened, the fury in his usually cheerful features as she'd relayed the events to him.

But coming face to face with Bryce again...

She hadn't been prepared for this. She and Chuck had prepared for everything. But she wasn't prepared for the Larkins.

And she certainly hadn't been expecting her hatred for this man to be so intense and engulfing. Still. Even after she'd done her healing with Chuck by her side.

The hatred grew with each passing moment as the youngest Larkin stood before her. And she was struck by how much she'd built him up in her mind since all those years ago when she'd last seen him. She was barely twenty-three then. He was twenty-four. And now that he was around thirty, maybe thirty one, and there were lines around his eyes. The wavy brown hair wasn't as full as she'd remembered. His blue eyes were dull. His cheekbones less pronounced. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead and he had a bit of scraggly stubble on his chin that he must have missed when he shaved that morning.

Bryce wasn't as hot as she'd told Chuck a year earlier.

Maybe her jibe about Georgia Larkin eating souls wasn't all that far from the mark. Bryce looked like one of her victims.

"Stop stalling, Sarah. You're not getting out of this alive if you don't do what I say. Come on. Be a good girl."

Something inside of her snapped and it was all she could do not to chance taking a bullet in the head to lash out at him, scratch out his eyeballs, _anything _to hurt him. Chuck's face swam in her head and she couldn't do it. She couldn't risk being killed now.

"For months after I escaped from that cotton mill, I imagined your face whenever I pulled the trigger," she murmured. Bryce looked a little shocked at that. "It didn't make it better in the long run, but _God _it felt amazing in that moment. And then I'd realize the person with the bullet in their head wasn't you and it hurt even worse." Her voice shook and Bryce's hand shook and everything seemed to be shaking.

"Sarah…"

"No. Don't you act like you're sorry. You're not. I know you think you are, but you're not. You were in a tough spot, Bryce. I get that. Your mom is a fucking succubus—"

"How you know what a succubus is?" he interrupted, his brow furrowed in a semblance of confusion and amusement.

"I know everything. Fuck off."

His mouth clamped shut and he blinked.

_And living with a nerd for four years helped_, she added silently before continuing.

"You didn't have much choice in the matter, Bryce, I know. But _screw you_ for not even trying. Not even a little bit."

Bryce's steely gaze didn't change at that, though she detected a flicker of…something. It wasn't shame. It wasn't guilt. But it was at least something.

"That's why I won't feel guilty when you get brought down with the rest of the Larkins. Not even a little bit," she said, repeating her phrase from moments before.

The con man snorted, grinning crookedly. She'd once thought it was attractive on him. Now it was just sad and lame. "Who's standing here with a gun in her face, Blondie? 'Cause it ain't me."

"Check yo'self before you wreck yo'self, brother," came a deep voice from behind Bryce.

Relief flooded through Sarah, making her feel for a moment like she might collapse to the ground in a lifeless heap. But she kept her footing and smirked smartly at Bryce, whose eyes widened significantly. His chin quivered for a moment before he tried to mask it with a smarmy grin.

"Batman!" he chirped.

"Hiya," Chuck chirped back, his tranq pistol shoved against the back of Bryce Larkin's head. "You're gonna step back with me, away from the pretty lady, if you will."

The two men stepped back together, Bryce loosening his grip on his pistol so that it swung limply on his finger to point at the ground safely. Chuck slowly rounded Bryce, ready to shoot, his eyes flicking to Sarah quickly as if to make sure she was all in one piece.

She gave him a reassuring nod, then took a moment to take him in. All of him. He had some bruises and was slightly favoring his left arm, but he was alive. He'd come through.

"How'd you get here?" Bryce asked Chuck as the latter carefully grabbed the gun from the former's grip and flicked the safety on before tucking it down the back of his pants. "You said you were quote unquote 'tied up'." Bryce lifted his hands to make bunny ears with his fingers.

"Hey! Keep your hands where I can see 'em."

"I was just doing the—"

"No bunny ears!"

"Technically my hands are where you can see them if I'm doing…_bunny ears_," Bryce mocked, looking over to Sarah who still stood a few paces away from them. She wished Chuck would check Bryce for more weapons already. "Blondie, where'd you find this dork?"

"Nerd, a'thank you. And turn around. Put your hands on your head."

_Good boy, Chuck_, Sarah thought to herself as he patted Bryce down and pulled two knives and another, smaller pistol from the other man's boots. Chuck slid them all towards her along the ground and she stopped them with her foot, bending down to gather them up and stash them in her sack, keeping her trusty S&W out and at the ready.

"Right, so you're a nerd. That still doesn't explain how you're here."

"Come on, Bryce. You think we're amateurs? This is the second time you've underestimated me, you know," Sarah spoke up, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows.

Chuck stepped back a foot, keeping the tranq pointed at Bryce's face as the con man turned around, confusion on his face. Apparently he decided to drop the macho act for the moment.

"We knew someone was listening to us. We knew there was another guy going after the diamond." She shrugged, trying to make it look nonchalant. "Didn't figure on it being the Larkins, though. I'll admit that much."

"Lucky you," Bryce snerked, but she could see he was nervous. "And my brothers?"

"You, my good sir, have enough siblings to choke a Sandworm. I was not expecting that many." Chuck lifted his left arm and Sarah finally saw the tear in his tight, black shirt. It was wet around the edges—blood most likely—but she knew he'd let her know if it was serious, so she pushed back her concern and let Chuck have his moment. Lord knew he deserved it after taking down all of the Larkins single-handedly. The handsome devil.

"You…took them all out?" Bryce paled. "What the fuck are you?"

Sarah felt a thrill shoot through her as she realized Chuck had beaten the odds with only minimal damage. She was proud and grateful and insanely attracted to him. The fire only increased when he fixed Bryce with a dark look.

"Your worst nightmare, Bryce Larkin."

"You killed my brothers?"

"Nooo," Chuck answered, clearly offended. "I'm not your bitch-ass mama. Mind you, I don't usually like talking crap on other people's moms but your mom deserves all the crap. She is a horrible person. _Horrible_."

Bryce looked so utterly confused and Sarah wondered for a moment if that was what she'd looked like when she'd first met Chuck Bartowski. Confused, startled that a person like him even existed, wondering what in the hell he was even talking about…

Chuck shook his tranq, then leveled it at Bryce's head again. "I'm more of a dart man, myself."

Bryce laughed a little. "Blondie, you sure found yourself a winner," he said sarcastically, but Sarah wondered if…for just one split moment…Bryce respected Chuck. Even liked him a little.

It was Chuck, after all.

"I know I did," she replied emphatically, her eyes sparkling as she met Chuck's gaze.

Chuck grinned back and took another step away from Bryce. "Sorry we gotta do this, buddy, except not really because you're a bastard."

"Hey, Sarah."

Chuck paused for a moment and Sarah's jaw clenched. She knew that tone. It was the tone Bryce used just before he said something extremely douche-y.

"You might trust this bozo now, but be careful if he sends you into any abandoned buildings, or say…cotton mills. Remember what happened last time you trusted the guy you were fu—"

He swallowed the rest of his snark as Chuck let out a deep, animalistic growl and closed the distance between them. Chuck wrapped his fists in Bryce's shirtfront and bodily lifted the muscular man into the air.

Sarah's eyes widened and her heart thumped madly in her chest as Chuck slammed Bryce's back into the wall, seemingly shaking the entire room on its foundation when the shorter man made contact. Bryce looked incredibly shocked and even a bit terrified as Chuck grit his teeth up at him, still holding the man so that his feet hovered a few inches from the ground.

Sarah couldn't have stopped Chuck if she wanted to; all she knew was that he was strong. Really, incredibly strong. And angry. Absolutely shaking with rage.

And at this moment, Sarah couldn't help finding him incomprehensibly sexy.

Then Chuck untangled his right hand from Bryce's shirt, holding him up with just the one arm, and reared his fist back. Sarah winced in preparation for the sound of breaking bone and the sight of blood spurting over the white walls.

She heard and saw neither of those things. Chuck's arm was shaking he'd clenched his fist so tightly. But his face was slowly softening, the anger seeping out of him, though not completely, because he wasn't all that gentle about lowering Bryce back to his feet.

Bryce staggered a bit with a grunt, and Chuck grabbed him to keep him from falling. "As much as I'd love to beat your pretty boy face into oblivion, Bryce Larkin…I think this one is hers."

Chuck threw Bryce easily to the ground, sending the man flopping painfully at Sarah's feet.

Sarah raised her eyes to Chuck's and he held her gaze solidly. Everything inside of her was churning and she wanted to say fuck all and leap over Bryce Larkin and into her man's arms. And cover his face with kisses and just…love him.

Because he was amazing. She was stunned at just how amazing he was. He was hers and he was perfect.

She felt tears gather in her eyes but was distracted when Bryce pushed himself to his feet and obstructed her view of Chuck Bartowski's warm, amber eyes. If only to get him out of her damn way, Sarah brought her fist across Bryce's jaw with a loud crack and the man crumbled at her feet.

"HIYO!" Chuck gaped down at Bryce, who groaned and squirmed on the ground. "ONE PUNCH WALKER!" Her Chuck stepped a little closer and gestured with both arms down at Bryce. "That. Was. _SO HOT!_"

Sarah laughed, grinning so hard she felt a little dizzy. As corny as she knew it was, that felt so so so good. Better than she'd ever dreamed it would.

Chuck was still gushing about the punch and her hand hurt a lot, but she didn't give a damn as she closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him as tightly as she could. His excited stream of words stilled and then his strong arms squeezed her close to him, his lips against her temple.

Burying her face in his neck, she took a deep breath and just let herself be held. "I love you," she breathed against his skin. "I just love you."

She closed her eyes tightly and squeezed him as hard as she could, hearing his breath catch in his chest as he repeated the words back to her in her ear.

They both turned at the pained "aww" from behind them and looked down at Bryce on the ground. His eyes glinted up at them, but Sarah liked to think his eyes were still pained as well. Both from Chuck's angry outburst and Sarah's knuckle sandwich.

She also felt uncomfortable, unnerved, and unsettled when she realized he'd heard her and Chuck exchange their romantic sentiments.

"This is the end of the line, Bryce," she breathed, and his eyes dulled, his petulant smile dimming. She was looking into the face of a man who knew he was going to die.

"Go ahead and kill me, then, Blondie."

Sarah stared down at the man who'd been at the root of the worst years of her life. But he hadn't been alone. Not by a long shot.

"Do it," Bryce egged her on, gritting his teeth in faux bravery. But she could see his eyes flitting to an unresponsive Chuck, the man he knew as Batman. "Come on!" Bryce growled. "Do it, Walker! End it!"

She wasn't the Sarah Walker he had known seven years ago. And she wasn't the Sarah Walker his actions (rather, she supposed, his _inaction) _had created.

Sarah's hand grazed the butt of her favorite gun, feeling the cool metal against her fingertips.

She was Chuck's Sarah.

She left the gun where it was at her hip, reached over to Chuck's belt and pulled his tranq gun out. Then she aimed it at Bryce's neck.

Before she could pull the trigger, Chuck's hand closed over hers on the gun. She looked at him in confusion.

"I won't judge you, Sarah. After what he did to you, what his family did to you, I won't judge you."

"What?" she asked a little breathlessly.

His eyes bore into hers as he pulled her gun out of its holster with his free hand and held it out to her. "If you end it."

It was out of character for Chuck to give her his approval to kill Bryce. But she knew what he was doing. He thought she was tranq-ing Bryce for him, that she thought he'd judge her if she killed the man whose cowardice led to her torture. And she knew he didn't approve. Chuck always chose to leave survivors. He always would. It wasn't in his nature to kill. He wasn't like her. He wasn't like the Larkins.

But he was stepping out of his comfort zone. He was making an exception for her. He was sacrificing his personal beliefs to help free her from her past, from her demons.

It was the most poignant moment of her life, looking up into his steady gaze and feeling the power of his confidence in her. He wasn't giving her permission, because they both knew she didn't need his permission. But he was letting her know that he understood. He understood, not just this situation, but her in general.

And if she needed to kill Bryce Larkin to be free, he would stand by her side and watch. And he would protect her.

Sarah turned back and squeezed the trigger, sending a dart into Bryce's neck and watching him slump over. And then she and Chuck lowered the gun together and she wrapped herself around him again. "Thank you, Chuck."

She felt his relief and almost laughed at him. But she held it in and hoisted herself up to wrap her legs around his waist. It was so strange, how she felt safe and powerful at the same time when he held her and she was wrapped around him like this. Safe and powerful felt like they didn't go together, _shouldn't _go together. But Chuck made it possible. He made so many things possible.

"Let's get outta here, huh?" Chuck said into her hair a moment later.

He lowered her to the ground as she nodded, reaching up to wipe the tears from her cheeks as they gathered their packs. "Oh. The diamond," she muttered.

"Right! Right, that."

Chuck pulled on his gloves and lifted the glass case for her so that she could pluck the diamond into her hand and drop it in a small sunglasses pouch. Chuck put the case back and and took the pouch from her, pocketing it and putting a hand on her shoulder. "I could really go for a smoothie. Are you with me?"

"When have I ever said no to a smoothie?"

She hoped the lascivious look in her eye conveyed exactly what she meant to do to him when they got back to the safety of the apartment they'd rented for the duration of the con. After the smoothies, of course. When his ears turned red and a slow smile flashed over his handsome face, she knew she'd conveyed her meaning perfectly.

There was a bounce in her step as she moved back to the center of the room, letting Chuck hoist her back into the vent before she lowered the rope for him to climb in and join her.

}o{

The wee hours of the morning found Chuck and Sarah perfectly sated, lying in a tangled mass of limbs on top of their bed.

Sarah hummed with satisfaction and burrowed deeper into Chuck's embrace, reaching up to cup his face and accidentally knocking her knuckles on his chin. She winced and pulled back, causing Chuck to look down at her in concern before gently taking her swollen hand and kissing the knuckles tenderly.

"We should ice that. We should've iced it hours ago," he saw in a voice so low it was almost a whisper.

"Yeah, well, I didn't want to do that when I could be shagging the living daylights out of you instead."

"Shagging. Sarah Walker just quoted Austin Powers."

"You know, a lot of British people use that term. Not just Austin Powers. Just because that's the only British person you know of."

"That—I resent that! Austin Powers is not the onl—Mmm…_mmmm_…"

Sarah cut him off with a sizzling kiss, giggling as he continued to 'mmm' at her, then pulling away with a wide grin, her long blond hair falling over her shoulders and covering the pillow his head was resting on.

Chuck reached up to push her hair back over her shoulder, his eyes soft, his smile perfectly happy and content. "Do you feel free now, Sarah Walker?"

She tilted her head and regarded him, pursing her lips. "I suppose I do. Yes."

She paused. "I do have to ask, though. What did you do with the Larkin boys?" She gently ran her finger over the gauze he'd taped to the shallow slice he'd received wrestling with one of them and mistiming a swipe from a hidden knife.

She wasn't exactly expecting him to laugh. But laugh he did.

Chuck was brimming as he caught his breath, his chest still bouncing with his chuckles. "You—You know those furniture exhibits with the chairs and tables from, like, the eighteenth century?"

"Yeah," she drawled, not quite knowing where he was going with this.

"After I tranq'd one of 'em, I put him on this super fancy chaise lounge thing from the sixteen-eighties." Chuck laughed again and Sarah just shook her head with a grin. "Oh my God, though. Wanna hear the best part?" He was just tickled pink with himself. "There was a sign attached to the rope surrounding it that said 'PLEASE DON'T SIT ON THE FURNITURE'!"

Chuck was positively giggling and she couldn't resist joining in. It was dorky, yes. And ridiculous. And he'd been a little foolish taking the time to lift whichever Larkin it was and deposit him just so on the old furniture. But if it had given him a thrill, well, who was she to deny him?

He'd come through in typical Chuck fashion, her knight in shining nerd armor. She loved him so much it was literally causing her heart to ache as she rested her forehead against his.

"Rid of the Larkins for good, huh?" he said with a cheeky grin.

Sarah felt a stab of discomfort at his words and slid off of him, lying on her side and propping her elbow on the pillow beside his head. "That'd be nice."

Chuck's grin dimmed on his face. "What's that mean?"

"It means I'm not sure we're through with the Larkins."

He pushed himself up to sit back against the headboard. "Wait, wait, wait. No. Because we heard the cops arrive when we got away. They were all knocked out in there. They're in prison."

"Chuck, I know. But Georgia wasn't there. She most likely escaped. She and her husband."

"She can't do anything without her minions."

"Minions?" Sarah repeated, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

"Sarah, I'm serious. Are you saying everything that happened tonight did absolutely _nothing_ to put the Larkins out of commission?"

"Sure they are. For now."

Chuck groaned and slumped to the side, resting his head on her shoulder. She stroked his hair and smiled. "Well, then. For now, we celebrate tonight's success," he said against her collar bone, his lips caressing her skin. "And if, sometime in the future, Madame Cockroach and her cockroach offspring rear their ugly antennas at us…" Chuck propped himself on his wrists beside her body so that he could look her right in her eyes. "You and me, together, are going to beat them. Again. For good. Because we're the best."

"Bryce knows my weakness now," she whispered as she reached up to stroke her thumb over his eyebrow. That was the thing that scared her the most, that Bryce knew Chuck was important to her. Maybe he knew that Chuck was the _only _thing that was important to her. He could use that against her. He _would_.

Chuck nodded solemnly. "I know. But we'll be okay." He kissed her forehead and she smiled at him, feeling the leftover nerves dissipate as Chuck's hand stroked along her side; something else was quickly taking their place.

"Yeah," she breathed, pushing his curls back from his forehead. "We'll be okay."

And she believed that.

More than anything else in the world, she believed that.

* * *

**A/N: **Thought you guys might like that. I liked writing it.

Note: The actual con part of this chapter has a _Great Muppet Caper _silliness to it on purpose. Because I thought it was funny. And if I can't make myself laugh, then what's the point?

Another note: The "PLEASE DO NOT SIT ON THE FURNITURE" sign was totally **dettiot**'s idea. I mentioned how funny it would be if Chuck put one of the Larkin boys on an old piece of furniture that's part of the exhibit and she said "with a sign that says" and I laughed so hard and put it in.

It's the little things that make life worth living, am I right? (grins)

Reviews count as little things. Just fyi.


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